


My Words, They Pour

by and_mister_comatose_over_there



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Blow Jobs, Both of my betas cried, Don't Judge Me, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, He's a prostitute okay, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Poetry, Prostitute Dean, Rimming, S&M, Teacher Castiel, Teacher-Student Relationship, There should probably be more tags but idk, There's some angst too, i cried while writing it, like a lot of smut, this is all original poetry, wowowow the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1990317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_mister_comatose_over_there/pseuds/and_mister_comatose_over_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had heard about Jimmy, how he had booked every single girl The Roadhouse had to offer, putting them through some sort of auditioning process. How the guy decided to keep Meg was beyond Dean’s thought processes. That wasn’t the strange part, though. Jimmy had a strict ‘no physical contact’ policy. Not only that, Dean had heard that Meg hadn’t even been allowed to see what the guy looked like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Okay. So, the situation wasn’t ideal. Dean squirmed against the bindings that held him, taking a deep breath.

Alistair. The guy was a menace, really. But, damn, did the psychopath pay him well. All in all, that was what kept Dean from punching that slimy grin off of the dude’s face. He flexed his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers, rolling his wrists slowly to make sure than no circulation was cut from the extremities.

“Does it pass inspection, Pretty?” Alistair’s voice penetrated Dean’s self-preservations.

Damn, that voice. It grated on every last nerve that Dean had, making him have to fight not to cringe whenever words were spat from those thin, greasy lips.

“You remember my safe word?” Dean gritted his teeth as he spoke, watching as Alistair pulled a riding crop from his red box of toys.

“Of course, Pretty.” The man’s nasally voice crawled over the words, making them sound sour.

“Then, let’s get on with this. You’ve wasted half of your time already.” Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He closed them instead.

Alistair had never touched Dean inappropriately. There had been rumors around The Roadhouse that the man was impotent, but Dean had seen no proof of it. He hadn’t ever had reason to believe that it wasn’t true, either, though. Alistair was into submissives. He liked to tie Dean up, render him powerless, and then beat the hell out of him with riding crops or whips or whatever the fucker could get his hands on. Dean, of course, had made the all-important rule that if skin were broken he’d never see the man again. Alistair, for all his venomous words, had respected the boundary.

The first strike of the riding crop fell on Dean’s shoulder. The younger man didn’t wince. He was used to this. When the pain became severe, he cleared his head and floated above himself, happily allowing the numbing sensation to overtake him. He thought of Ellen, who had begged him to drop Alistair. He thought of Sam, who was the reason he couldn’t do just that. He thought of Tessa and Charlie and Lisa, wondering what types of clients they had to face tonight. He thought of Ruby, Meg, and Eve, not giving a shit who they were wrapped in.

“So, so good for me, Pretty.” Alistair’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Dean furrowed his brow. “Thirty seven minutes of flogging, and you didn’t even cry.”

The man knelt in front of Dean, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I almost miss your screams.”

Dean’s eyes found the clock. Thank God. “Times up, Al. Untie me.”

He waited patiently, sighing with relief when he felt the move behind him to unlace the rope that bound him. As he unwrapped each extremity, he felt Alistair’s fingers massaging the blood back into his body. Dean sighed again once he was completely untied, standing and stretching his limbs as he watched Alistair put his things away. His eyes followed the man’s movements.

“I have an ice pack.” Alistair looked up at Dean, but he shook his head.

“I’m cool, man. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” The man shrugged, fishing his wallet from his pants. “Eight or nine?”

“Let’s go eight this time, since it took you so long to get the ropes right.” Dean gave him a small smile, picking his shirt up from the ground and gingerly sliding it over his shoulders.

Alistair nodded, pulling nine hundred dollars from his wallet and offering it to Dean anyway. “Buy yourself something pretty, Pretty.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled his jeans up, stuffing the money into his pocket and lacing the strings on his work boots. “Goodnight, Al. Thanks.”

“No, Pretty. Thank you.”

Dean didn’t turn to look back before he shut the door to the hotel room, taking another deep breath. He glanced at his watch, pulling out his phone with his other hand to see if he had any missed calls.

It was only 7:00. Thankfully, after a night with Alistair, Dean is given a few days off to recuperate. As he walked toward the elevator, he saw the little red ‘x’ on his phone alerting him that he had a missed call and he frowned, his head spinning into about thirty different scenarios that involved Sammy being hurt somehow. He pushed the elevator button, groaning when he saw that the call was from Meg.

Dean stepped onto the elevator, pressing the green button and holding the phone to his ear.

“Dean-o.” Her voice oozed from the receiver like slime. Dean grimaced.

“What do you want, Meg?” He exhaled deeply before yawning. His back hurt like a motherfucker, and he wanted to get home as soon as possible.

“I did it, Dean-o. I applied to nursing school and I got accepted.” Her voice came out in a slightly higher pitch, and Dean figured it was caused by a weird type of excitement. “This means, I’m quitting The Roadhouse.”

“Good for you, Meg.” He smiled around the words, hoping she would hear the tilt in his lips instead of the insincerity wrapping around the phrase.

“Anyway. I need a favor, Winchester.” Her voice took on that low, polluted tone as she spoke.

“Again, I ask… What do you want, Meg?” Dean stepped off of the elevator, walking past the small lobby of the hotel and out the door into the muggy, March air.

“I need you to take one of my clients tonight. He’s-”

“No can-do.” Dean cut her off before she could finish, pulling his keys from his jeans pocket as he ran a hand over the smooth black paint of his Baby. “Just got out of a session with Alistair. I’m untouchable.”

“Come on, Dean-o. A little spanking’s got you down and out?” Meg joked, and Dean rolled his eyes again, climbing into his car and starting the engine. “He pays better than Alistair, too.”

‘Who is it?” He rested his head on the cool leather of the steering wheel. He might as well agree to whatever Meg wanted, or she’d pester him all night. Plus, a client who paid more than Al was rare. “And what kind of shit does he want?”

“Jimmy.” She replied simply, and yeah, Dean’s interest was piqued.

“I thought Jimmy was strictly a ladies man?”

He had heard about Jimmy, how he had booked every single girl The Roadhouse had to offer, putting them through some sort of auditioning process. How the guy decided to keep Meg was beyond Dean’s thought processes. That wasn’t the strange part, though. Jimmy had a strict ‘no physical contact’ policy. Not only that, Dean had heard that Meg hadn’t even been allowed to see what the guy looked like.

“He’s tried all the ladies, Dean. Trust me. If he says anything about you being a guy, just tell him that I chose you. That I’m finally going to school and I wanted you to take my place.” Meg was insistent. “We’re talking twenty, here, Dean. Twice, maybe three times a week regularly if he likes you.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. “When and where? I can’t work too late tonight, Meg. I have class tomorrow.”

“Eight tonight. At the Krushnik hotel. Room 304.” He could hear the smile in her tone, and it chilled him.

“Fine.” Dean groaned, turning the car around in a gas station parking lot. “But if he freaks because I’m a guy, I’ll find you and I’ll hurt you.”

“Thanks, Dean-o.”

 

Dean was about to plead with her, threaten her, if she called him that damn nickname again, but she hung up before he could get a word in.

Damn it. He was tired, but he wasn’t stupid enough to walk away from an opportunity like this. He was halfway to the hotel when a text message came through.

 

Meg: Jeans and a T-shirt. Don’t get undressed. Wait for him on the bed with your back to the door There will be a key at the front desk under the name ‘Collins”.

 

Great. A weirdo.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, parking Baby and easing from the car. Shit, Alistair had really done a number on him. He’d have to get Ellen or Lisa to take care of him tonight if he wanted to make it to class tomorrow. He thought that the guy at the front desk was slightly dick-ish, and he was offended at the way the prick’s eyebrow rose when he told him he was there for the Collins room key.

Dean found the room easily, unlocking it and slipping inside. The lights were still off, and he breathed a sigh of relief, glancing at his phone to check the time.

7:57. He wasn’t late. Good start.

Dean flipped the light switch, toeing off his boots and making his way toward the bed. He sat down exactly as Meg had instructed, on the side away from the door, facing the wall. Dean took another centering breath when he heard a key card slipping into the lock, and a soft clicking as the door opened. There was some faint shuffling before the sound of bare feet padding across the carpet. Dean felt the bed shift behind him as another person invaded the mattress, pulling the blanket over himself.

“You’re not Meg.”

And, holy fuck. Dean let out an audible gasp at the sound of Jimmy’s voice, because. Holy. Fuck. The guy sounded like sin.

“No. I’m not.” Was all he could manage, and he hated the way his own voice sounded.

“Where is Meg?” Jimmy spoke again and Dean had to suppress a full-body shiver.

“She got accepted into nursing school. Wanted me to tell you that she chose me to replace her, if that makes any difference.” Dean steadied himself.

“That’s wonderful news. I’m the one that urged her to apply, you know.” He could hear the sound of a smile in that voice, and Jesus, how he wanted to turn around, to lay his eyes on the owner of something so deep and soul-scorching.

He felt his lower half stirring, and Dean had to press the heel of his hand against himself. For Christ’s sake, he was a professional. “I didn’t know that.”

“What’s your name?”

And shit, Dean almost told him his real name.

Pull yourself together, Winchester.

“Jensen.” He replied, his voice still shakier than he’d like it to be.

 

“That’s an unusual name. Why did you choose it?” He could feel Jimmy scooting closer to him in the bed. This was torture.

“Honestly?” Dean managed a small laugh. “As a joke. I wanted it to be just ‘Jen,’ but Ellen said that would be confusing since Jen’s a girl’s name.”

“Why Jen?”

“After Genevieve, a saint of France. She convinced the French to stand against-“

“The Huns. Attila, among others. She’s a famous virgin.” Dean tried to imagine what he looked like, grinning around the words as he cut him off. “You may lie down. Keep your back to me.”

Dean did as he was instructed, keeping his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. After a moment, he felt the blanket being pulled over him.

“This is quite simple. There will be no physical contact between you and me. There is nothing sexual about this encounter at all. I want to recite something to you, and get your opinion on it. An honest opinion. I have secured four hours between us, so please be sincere. Be critical. And, whatever time is left, you may rest here in the room before proceeding to your next appointment.”

Dean nodded his understanding, the thought of being enveloped by that voice entirely too enticing. “I’d be happy to help.”

“This is called The Balloon.

Sometimes, I lie awake at night and wonder what would happen  
If I cut the only string that’s keeping me grounded.  
I would float into a limitless expanse of blue, freeing myself from everyone below,  
The ones insistent on keeping me at their level.  
I would be happy until the pressure around me sent me into a thousand pieces,  
Raining down on everyone I had left.  
I would be free, if only for a few fleeting moments,  
Because I would know that flying had been my decision to make.  
Because, even though falling is inevitable,  
Ten minutes of soaring to great heights is worth the landing,  
Especially if it means not living to see the smugness on their faces when I come crashing down.”

 

Dean took a breath, trying to steady his thoughts. Jimmy was quiet, giving him time to think.

“It’s sad. Realistic.” He paused, trying to find the proper words to say how the poem had made him feel. “It makes me want to curl into a ball and disappear.”

“Why?” Jimmy’s voice was closer now, and Dean shivered as the man’s breath cascaded over the back of his neck.

“Because,” He tried to collect himself, tried to tell his raging erection to disappear. “It’s a great disappointment. When you’re tethered to the ground, the sky is limitless, a road of ‘greater tomorrows.’ But once you’ve freed your ties, once you’re up there, there’s nothing. The sky’s not the limit. It’s there to help us remember why we’re on the ground. It’s a reminder of what we are, and what we’ll never be.”

Dean was taken aback by the feeling of lips brushing against the back of his neck. He tried to scoot back, longing for more contact, but the lips were gone after a fraction of a second.

“Goodnight, Jen.”

Dean felt the bed shift, alerting him that Jimmy was leaving. “Goodnight.”

He sagged into the mattress once the room was empty, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into Jimmy’s pillow.

Jesus. That voice.

Dean pushed his hardness against the mattress, keeping his face buried into the pillow in front of him. It smelled like spearmint and pine needles. Dean groaned, rolling onto his back and practically ripping his jeans open. He yanked them down, freeing his leaking erection.

It took two strokes before he was coming, a choked off moan leaving him breathless.

Oh, lord. He was fucked.


	2. Two

“Damn it, boy.” Ellen’s voice was shaking as she spoke, but Dean could barely hear her. She was rubbing an ice cube down a particularly painful welt between his shoulders, and Dean’s fingers were going numb from clenching his fists so tight. “Why don’t you just drop him? You know I’d never let you starve. And you know that I’d help you take care of-”

"Don’t say his name.” Dean curled in on himself, doubling over in the chair that Ellen had made him sit in after insisting that she take a look at Alistair’s handiwork.

“Dean.” Ellen spoke slowly, an over-calculating and sympathetic tone blanketing the words. She didn’t say anything else, because she didn’t need to. There were enough apologies and condolences in the mere speaking of his own name than any other words could have had.

“I’ll go with you tomorrow.” Jo spoke up from across the room, making Dean jump at the sound of her voice. He had almost forgotten that someone else was in the room. “After Turner’s class, we’ll go see him. Together.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jo.” Dean looked in her direction, gratefulness radiating from every pore in his body. He knew that she wouldn’t allow him to go alone, not after Dean had finally told them about the impending deadline that was just a few months away, and that his words were spoken in vain. He said them anyway, though, needing them both to understand that he could handle his problems on his own. Dean winced, and he couldn’t tell whether it was in reaction to his thoughts or the sudden cold on his back. He couldn’t remember when he started thinking of Sam as a problem, and it was painful to realize that people saw his little brother as just another piece of his emotional baggage. It was even harder to recognize that he was starting to see Sam in the same way.

“I’m coming anyway, dipshit.” Jo’s voice pulled him from his ponderings.

“Joanna Beth.” Ellen’s words were sharp. “Language.”

“Are you almost done?” Dean glanced back at Ellen, who was glaring at him. “I have class at seven in the morning, and I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Not until I hear about Jimmy.” Jo frowned as she spoke, something accusing lacing her tone.

“You should go to bed, too, Jo.” Ellen finally spoke. “You know Dean’s not allowed to say anything to you about his clients.”

“But-”

“No.” Ellen cut off Jo’s protest. “Upstairs now.”

There was a huff from Jo’s direction before Dean heard her storming upstairs. He reached down and pulled his shirt from the ground, slipping it over his shoulders before standing. “Thanks, Ellen.”

“Two days off. No clients whatsoever.” She commanded, and Dean nodded.

“Unless Jimmy calls.” He frowned at her exasperated expression. “It’s good money, and the guy doesn’t even approve of physical contact, Ellen. I’ll be fine.”

“Dean, I know you feel like money’s going to change the situation, but-”

“I know, Ellen, I know. There are some things money can’t buy and for everything else, there’s MasterCard.” He tried to force his muscles into a smile, but they wouldn’t cooperate. “Look, I know that no amount of money is going to fix this, but sitting on my ass with no distraction is only gonna drive me crazy.”

“Okay. Jimmy only.” Ellen sighed, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into one of those hugs that made him feel like breaking into a million pieces if only because he knew that Ellen would be able to put him back together.

Dean pulled away. “I’ll drop Jo off at home tomorrow afternoon.” When he gave her a smile, this time it was genuine. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, boy.” Ellen smiled back at him.

The walk home didn’t take long, considering the fact that Dean and Ellen lived in the same apartment building. He opened his door and locked it behind him, making his way toward the bedroom. He eyed the clock hanging in the hallway as he passed, mumbling about it being after midnight as he fell into bed. It wasn’t long after that he fell into a restful sleep, his dreams surrounded by the harsh beep of a hospital monitor and the deep, comforting timbre of a familiar deep voice.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

“One more thing before you’re dismissed.” Rufus Turner was standing at the front of Dean’s World Literature class, his voice drawing the attention of each student as they packed their things. “As you all know, my daughter’s due to have her baby any day now. Because of this, I’ll be flying out to South Carolina next week to be with her. The school has appointed a replacement professor for the rest of the year after I leave.” Turner pointed to the back of the class, and Dean turned to follow his finger, his eyes landing on a nervous-looking man sitting in the back row. “This is Professor Castiel Novak. He’ll be taking over after next week. I know you’ll all miss me, but there’s only seven weeks left in the semester anyway.”

Dean studied the man in the back of the room, watching him shift uneasily in the desk. The poor sap. By the way he was fidgeting, he probably had no idea how to speak in front of so many students.

“Alright. That’s it. Get out of my classroom.” Rufus spoke again, and Dean finished gathering his things. He felt a hand fall on his back and he winced, turning to find who was touching him.

“Shit, Jo. That still hurts.” Dean frowned annoyed, but it didn’t seem like she was paying much attention. He followed her gaze to Professor Novak.

“He’s hot.” She finally spoke, turning and waggling her eyebrows at him, and Dean grimaced.

“Yeah, if you’re into twitchy nerds.” Dean shrugged. “You still coming with me to see Sam?” He said the words slowly, trying to make them seem nonchalant.

“Of course.” Jo gave him a look that said that his efforts were useless; she had always been able to see through him. “Can I drive?”

“As if.” Dean chuckled, leading her out of the classroom. He was lucky to have someone like her, someone who understood how he was feeling yet didn’t push for more explanation.

The hospital was a thirty-minute drive from campus. They stopped at a drive-thru to grab burgers on the way, and Jo didn’t mention that Dean was obviously trying to put off the inevitable. When he pulled into the parking lot of Kripke Memorial Hospital, she took his hand from where it was white-knuckling the steering wheel and gave it a slight, reassuring squeeze.

Dean exhaled, offering her a shaky smile. “Let’s do this.”

He knew the way to Sam’s room like the back of his hand. As a matter of fact, he could probably navigate every hall of this godforsaken hospital blindfolded. Still, Dean took the longer route, leading Jo through the stairwells and passing by the nursery before he finally stepped onto the floor where they kept the coma patients.

“Hey there.” A nurse glanced up at them when they were passing the nurse’s station. “I was wondering when I’d see you today.”

“How is he, Missouri?” Dean leaned against the counter, still slightly comforted by Jo’s silent presence next to him.

“No change, hon.” The older woman gave him a sympathetic look that Dean wanted to ignore. “Jess is in there now, refilling his IVs and giving him lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Nah.” Dean picked up a pen from the counter and twirled it between his thumb and index finger. “We picked up something on the way.”

“Alright then.” Missouri gave him a small smile. “You go on and see your brother. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Dean put the pen back on the counter and took a deep breath. “Thanks, Missouri. For everything.”

The woman gave him a slight nod before he turned and led Jo to the end of the hall. The door was propped open when they entered, as always, and the blonde nurse was sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing liquidized food through a syringe into a feeding tube. She glanced up and gave the two of them a brilliant smile.

“Happy Monday.” She moved her eyes back to the syringe as she spoke, keeping a steady, slow pressure on the plunger.

“Hey Jess. You remember Jo?” Dean pointed as Jo sat down in the chair in the corner of the room.

“I remember everyone you bring with you, Dean. Sam, after all, is my favorite patient.” Jess chuckled, removing the syringe and securing the line before she got up.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean rolled his eyes, taking his usual spot in the chair right next to Sam’s bed. “Missouri said there’s been no change.”

“Yeah…” He could hear the sadness in her voice, and it physically hurt him. He watched as she stood. “I’ll give you two your time with him; I get him all day. It was good to see you, Dean.”

“You, too, Jess.” Dean gave her a smile as she left, and he turned to Jo once she was gone. “That woman is so in love. It’s sad that my catatonic brother has more game than I do.”

Jo chuckled, scooting her chair closer now that the room was cleared. “So, are you still going to keep in touch with everyone after…?”

Dean didn’t need to ask for an explanation of her unfinished sentence. “I’ve known Missouri since he was put in here. That’s fourteen years, Jo. She’s practically family. And, Jess? She’s the closest thing to a sibling I have right now, besides you. I couldn’t imagine losing touch with them after…” He shook his head. “But he could still wake up at any moment. And, until May 2nd, I have to keep thinking that, or I’ll lose it.”

“Fourteen years is a long time to be asleep, Dean. Even if he did wake up, he’d be like a seven-year-old.” Jo spoke softly.

“I don’t care, Jo. He’d be awake. He’d be my Sammy again. I don’t care how old he acts.” Dean stated, taking an unsteady breath, and he heard Jo stand from her chair.

“I’m gonna go find a drink machine.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Want anything?”

“Sunkist?” Dean turned to look at her, and she nodded before disappearing through the door. He took another deep breath, his eyes finally landing on his brother.

Dean wondered when Sam had gotten so big. It seemed like his legs were long enough to fall off the foot of the bed, and he was in dire need of another haircut. Dean made a mental note to bring Ellen with him on Wednesday so that she could trim it.

“Sammy?” He spoke softly, not entirely expecting an answer. “Sammy, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

He reached out and rested his hand on his brother’s forearm. The skin was cold underneath his fingers, so Dean pulled the blanket up over him.

“Sammy, it’s March 18th. Your hair’s becoming unruly. I’m gonna bring someone to cut it on Wednesday. I, um-” Dean gave a slight chuckle. “Fourteen years of coming to see you every other day, and I still have no idea what to talk about.”

He chuckled again, but it turned into a sob and got caught in his throat. “Fourteen years, Sammy. I- I’ve forgotten what your voice sounds like. And, the exact color of your eyes, and that trademark  bitch-face you always used to give me. I-” Dean wiped furiously at his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. You’ll be twenty one in May, and the doctors want me to unplug you, to let you go, but I- I don’t want to. And I know that makes me so fucking selfish, because this, Sam, this life you have isn’t a life at all. And no one should want to keep you like this, but I- I do.”

Dean took another deep breath, standing from his chair and leaning over his brother’s unconscious form. “Sammy, please…” He put a hand on each of Sam’s shoulders, gripping the material of the hospital gown tightly in his fists. “Please just wake up. For me? Please wake up because I’m a selfish bastard and I’m not ready to lose you yet. Wake up because you’re my brother, the only living flesh and blood that I have left, and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to live knowing that I couldn’t save you. Please, Sammy. Just…”

And something inside that had been slowly bending for the past fourteen years finally snapped.

He wept, placing his forehead on his brother’s shoulder, pulling him closer as if the closeness would stop the sobs from forcing their way past his lips.

“Please, Sammy. Just… Please, I-”

“Dean.”

Jo was suddenly there, pulling him away from Sam and allowing him to crash into her. She wrapped him in an embrace and let him cry, let him muffle his frustrated screams into the fabric of her shirt covering her shoulder. He didn’t know how long they stood like that, him sobbing and snotting all over her, but when he finally pulled away, the light outside had faded. Missouri was standing in the doorway, her eyes rimmed red as she informed them that visiting hours were over. Dean gave her a hug before he left.

When they got into the car, Dean was once again thankful for Jo. He knew that anyone else would have pressured him to talk about what had happened.

She didn’t speak the entire way home.


	3. Three

Dean was surprised when Ellen called him on Wednesday afternoon, reporting that Jimmy had requested to see him again that night. He hadn’t heard from the man since their first appointment on Sunday night, so Dean had assumed that the Jimmy wasn’t interested. Hearing otherwise made him grin more than it should have, and that had him slightly worried.

It was the number one rule of The Roadhouse.

No getting attached.

He struggled with the idea, wondering how he could possibly be so eager to see someone who had to pay for his company, someone he had only actually had a conversation with once. He didn’t understand how he had any time to make attachments. Even with those thoughts plaguing him, he found that, on the rare occurrence that he had a pleasant dream, the subject of those dreams bounced back and forth between Sam waking up and seeing Jimmy again. He spent more time than was strictly necessary trying to picture the appearance of the man who had a voice that could leave him completely undone. Dean imagined him with light hair, long enough to allow someone to grab onto if the need arose. He probably had dark eyes, piercing in a way that could reduce Dean into a puddle. He pictured him in a suit, using his voice to drive Dean into oblivion without even touching him, without the hassle of even having to unbutton the suit jacket.

Dean groaned aloud at the thought, having forgotten where he was.

“Oh? What’s this?” A woman’s thick British accent wrapped around him, reminding him that he was on a job.

Shit, shit, shit.

“An eager one, are we?”

Dean buried his face into the pillow in front of him. He knew he was fucked.

“Come on, Jensen… Look at me.”

Dean shook his head, breathing harshly into the pillow as he felt the woman twist her fingers slightly inside him. He hadn’t even realized that he had gotten hard while thinking of another client, but he could feel his erection rubbing against the mattress as he desperately sought friction.

“You like this? The thought of being the woman in the relationship? It helps you get off?”

Her fingers pressed insistently at that spot inside of him that made him see sparks, and he bit his lip to hold back another groan, almost whining when she retracted her hand from him.

Now, Dean’s not saying he enjoys being a bottom, but Bela was fucking hot, and damn, her hands were talented. He felt the hard plastic of something he couldn’t see pressing against his entrance, and he heard the woman sighing in fascination as the toy sunk into him. The burn was a shock to his system, and he gritted his teeth against it, trying to still his hips from pushing back demandingly onto the damn thing.

Bela moved the toy deeper, causing Dean to gasp against the pillow. He felt the end of it rubbing at his prostate, and he whined into the pillow, opening his mouth to chew on the soft material.

“Look at you, moaning like a whore with a fake cock shoved in your ass.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut and Dean thrashed about on the bed, biting his tongue to keep desperate pleas from falling off of his lips as she moved the toy in and out of him slowly. The taste of iron exploded in his mouth and he cursed loudly spasming wildly as he gave up his fight, lifting onto his hands and knees to push backward, fucking himself on the toy.

He heard Bela’s intake of breath and a quiet breathy moan coming from behind him before his stomach clenched up and he was so fucking close.

There was a soft clicking noise and he was gone.

The toy was vibrating, pressing relentlessly against his prostate and causing him to collapse as he felt the tidal wave of pleasure edge closer. Before it could crash over him, though, Bela retracted the toy and clamped her hand down around the base of his cock, bringing his orgasm to a stuttering halt. Dean seized under the sensation, rolling onto his back and muttering curses underneath his breath as he watched her moving the toy in and out of herself quickly before she came.

Bela was a kinky bitch. She enjoyed bringing Dean right to the edge before refusing to let him fall. Sometimes, he hated her.

She held him tightly for about three minutes before she was convinced that he wouldn’t come all over himself. When she flopped down on the bed, she sighed happily.

“Fucking brilliant, as always.”

Dean gave her a small smile before sitting up. He glanced at his watch and cursed again.

“You ran over 15 minutes, Bela.” He stood, almost losing balance from the soreness in his inner thighs.

“Money’s on the table, love.” She grinned up at him. “Take an extra fifty from my bag, would you?”

Dean grabbed the money from the bedside table and handed the woman her purse, not feeling comfortable with sifting through it himself. By the time he was dressed, she was holding out the bill towards him. He took it with a sigh as he glanced at his watch again.

He had ten minutes. Luckily, Bela had insisted on meeting at the Kripke, so all Dean had to do was catch the elevator in order to get to Jimmy.

Of course, leave it to his fucking luck that the elevators were out of order, which meant that Dean had to hurry down six flights of stairs to get to the third floor. When he finally stopped in front of the door to room 304, he hesitated, glancing at his watch.

8:02.

He knocked lightly on the door and heard shuffling on the other side before he heard that deep voice through the wood.

“Come in.”

Dean fished the room key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock, waiting for the small light to turn green before he opened the door. Of course, the first thing he did was glance around the room, trying to catch sight of the man that had haunted him for days. Also, blame his luck that Jimmy was hiding in the bathroom.

“You may lie down. Let me know when you’re ready.” The voice called from behind the door, and Dean sighed, slightly disappointed at this turn of events.

“Sorry I’m late, man. The elevator’s broken.” Dean toed off his boots and climbed into bed, facing the wall the way he had the first time. He pulled the cover up over him and felt his body relaxing.

“It’s quite alright. I’m sorry you were inconvenienced with the stairs.”

“No, no problem.” Dean laid his head down on the pillow and sighed happily. He wished he understood why he felt so giddy to merely be in this guy’s vicinity. “I’m ready.”

He heard the bathroom door open and the shuffling of bare feet padding toward the bed. The mattress dipped down behind him and Dean felt the other man climbing underneath the blanket and scooting closer to him, closer than they had started out last time; he could feel Jimmy’s breath on the back of his neck, and Dean could feel his cock stirring in his pants.

He usually had time after an appointment with Bela to finish himself off in the bathroom. Now, he was stuck in a bed with the object of his fantasies, and he was still wound pretty tightly from his disrupted orgasm.

“I wanted to apologize.” Jimmy was talking, and damn it, his voice wasn’t helping Dean’s situation. “The way I acted during our last appointment was unprofessional. I assured you that there would be no physical contact, but I lost track of where I was. I guarantee you, it won’t happen again.”

And, even though Dean didn’t like the topic of this conversation, he was enraptured with the sound of Jimmy’s voice, the way it wrapped around the words he spoke and deepened when he was trying to be convincing. His cock was leaking in his jeans, and fuck, was it painful.

“It’s not a problem, man. You’re tame compared to others.” He hated the way his voice shook, showing weakness.

“Oh.” Jimmy’s voice was closer, a breathless whisper, and Dean wanted to press back into him. He longed for some sort of contact. “Also, I wanted to apologize for taking so long to call back for another appointment. I have recently been given a new job, and I am extremely stressed, which brings me to apology number three: I have nothing prepared to recite for you tonight.”

“Oh.” It was Dean’s turn to be breathless. He was slightly disappointed, until Jimmy spoke up again.

“I thought that maybe we could talk? I’d like to get to know you.”

And yeah, Dean was totally okay with that.

“Well, what do you wanna know?” He tried to speak evenly; to not think about how his dick was throbbing with every syllable the man spoke.

“Everything. I want to know everything.”

And yeah, this was bordering on breaking the rules, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Are you in school?” He felt the brush of fingertips across his hip, and Dean almost lost it. He wanted to pull up the material of his shirt, to feel Jimmy’s hands on him. “If not, what would you take if given the opportunity?”

Dean gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting every instinct to press up into the man’s touch. His breath was labored, and he couldn’t think of words to say because he was about to fucking combust.

“What is your passion?” The words were breathed into the nape of his neck, and Dean was lost.

Being in the professional field that he was in, Dean had convinced himself that he had come in every way imaginable. This, though. This was something he’d never experienced before—coming without any stimulation at all. In his pants. Like a fucking teenager. Dean trembled on the bed as a white light flashed behind his eyelids, feeling the other man pull away minutely, no doubt confused as hell.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I-” Dean gasped once his vision had returned to him. “I’m sorry, I-“

But he was cut off by a short groan, deep and needy enough that his cock gave a valiant twitch. Before he could turn and reciprocate, because that would be the polite thing to do, he felt the other man get up and the door to the room slammed, signaling Jimmy’s exit.

“Shit.” Dean rolled onto his back, his hand wandering on its own accord to the other side of the bed, which was still warmed by Jimmy’s body heat.

What had he just done?


	4. Four

The next week was grueling.

He visited Sam on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as usual, but his brother’s persistent refusal to wake up only further fatigued Dean. He knew that it was unfair to see it as Sammy refusing him, but Dean was so tired that he wasn’t thinking straight.

He groaned when his phone rang out while he was on his way home from the hospital. It wasn’t often that he had a night off, but he had been looking forward to relaxing after such a difficult visit with Sam.

“Ellen?” He answered the phone without looking at the screen. It was past 9 pm. Who else would be calling him this late? “I’m on my way home from the hospital, and I’m exhausted. This better be good.”

“I apologize for disturbing you.”

And, woah. That voice didn’t belong to Ellen.

“Jimmy?” He could never mistake that voice as anyone else’s.

Dean had to pull the car over to keep from running it into a ditch. It had been almost a week since the last disastrous meeting, and he wasn’t expecting to hear from the man again. Ever.

“I was hoping we could speak, but I was not aware that it was your night off.” Jimmy’s voice reverberated through the phone, and Dean felt a chill run up his spine. “Maybe we could schedule something for tomorrow?”

“No, man I-” Dean paused, running a hand through his hair and glancing in the mirror. There were heavy circles underneath his eyes, and that would have worried him, but Jimmy wouldn’t be seeing his face anyway. “I don’t have anything else to do tonight. I feel terrible about what happened before, and I-”

“How far are you from the hotel?” Jimmy interrupted him, and Dean had to bite back a shuddery exhale. Damn, the dude got straight to the point, didn’t he?

He glanced up, taking a moment to recognize where he was. “Twenty minutes?”

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

Dean wanted to thank the man, to assert that he was grateful for getting another chance, but the line was dead before he could open his mouth.

It only took him thirteen minutes to reach the hotel room. He bee-lined for the bathroom, deciding that his face could use a good wash, and that his hair needed to be tamed. He stared at the bed when he was satisfied with his appearance, taking a deep breath before moving to his usual perch on the side of the mattress facing the wall. It wasn’t long before Jimmy came in.

“I’m sorry for calling on such short notice.”

Dean felt the bed dip under the weight of the other man.

“You may lie down.”

And he did as he was told, shifting to pull the blanket over him before his head came to rest on the pillow. Dean heard Jimmy sigh, felt the other man’s deep breath in the movement of the mattress, and he braced himself for the impact of whatever Jimmy was preparing to say.

“Things were easier with Meg.”

The words hit Dean like a punch to the gut, and he had to take a steadying breath to keep himself from doubling over underneath the weight of them. It was stupid, really, for him to be so crushed by the thought of losing a customer (one that he’d only seen twice, at that). He opened his mouth to apologize again, to insist that he was capable of being a professional, but words were lost to him. Luckily, Jimmy wasn’t finished speaking.

“I think she did this on purpose, the little minx. She was always telling me that I am too uptight for my own good.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Dean said the first phrase that came to mind.

“I’m gay.”

And, oh.

“Didn’t you wonder why I requested for only females to accompany me?” Jimmy spoke as if the notion were obvious.

“I figured you were only into women,” Dean said incredulously. “But what does any of this have to do with Meg?”

“I’m also a virgin.”

That was shocking. Dean didn’t know how to process the information.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Dean shook his head, small pieces fitting into place. “Meg chose me to deflower you?”

He couldn’t say that the thought was unappealing, but it was a bit preposterous.

“I am…” Jimmy took another breath. “I am exceedingly attracted to you.”

Dean took a deep breath, trying in vain to keep the grin off of his face at the thought. “Y’know, you’re kind of paying for me. I wouldn’t be averse to doing a little more than talking.”

“Oh no, I…”  Jimmy mumbled half-heartedly, and Dean felt a fingertip tracing the collar of his shirt along the back of his neck. “It would be my first time, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable with…” His voice trailed off, and Dean understood.

“Paying for it.” He finished the man’s sentence, and nodded. “That’s understandable, man.”

“I would, however, like to keep meeting.”

Dean nodded again. “I’d like that, too.”

“I wrote something.”

Dean felt Jimmy’s breath on the back of his neck and that all-too familiar stirring in his pants. He squeezed his hands into fists. “Maybe I should confess something first.”

There was silence, and he took that as a sign to go on.

“I have this thing.” Dean bit down on his lip. “This, um… I don’t know how to-”

“Just speak.” Jimmy piped up helpfully, and Dean groaned.

“Your voice, man. It’s fucking sinful.” He blurted out and heard chuckling from behind him.

“I was curious about what happened last time.” There was a brush of lips against the back of Dean’s neck. “So, the poetry probably drives you insane, huh?”

He shivered at the touch, feeling the words cascading over his skin, and he was suddenly extremely aroused.

“Let me amend my former statement, then.” Jimmy spoke lowly. “I wrote something. For you.”

Dean should be ashamed of the noise that escaped him, but he was too busy listening to the words falling against the back of his neck in hot breaths.

“I want you to touch yourself while I recite it for you. If you’re comfortable with that?”

And, hot damn, Dean was more than comfortable with that. He nodded jerkily, resisting the urge to press back further into the other man. He felt his hands moving of their own accord, unzipping his own fly and popping the button open on his pants.

“I haven’t titled this yet. Maybe you can help me title it?”

Dean nodded again, sighing as he relaxed deeper into the mattress.

 

“I can still taste the blood.

I can still remember in detail every point that our bodies connected,

and the way that it took every ounce of will power for me to step away and leave you trembling on the bed, spent,

my own need forgotten in the fumbling rush to distance myself from temptation so great.”

 

Dean lifted the hem of his shirt, running his fingertips along the hem of his pants.

Holy fuck. He didn’t think he’d ever been this aroused.

 

“And there are so many words that I have,

a countless number of things to say to you,

but I can’t fight my way through the clutter in my head to choose the appropriate ones.

The feeling is foreign for me, a writer, to have been abandoned by the solace of the one thing I can always count on.”

 

Dean eased down the edge of his pants, slipping his fingers underneath and bucking into his own touch. He pulled his erection from its confines and gave a shaky breath of relief at the feeling.

 

“I want to shout, to accuse, because I know that you are the reason behind my emptying thought processes,

the idea plaguing my mind and leaving me in a speechless stupor,

consuming any ounce of intellect that may have survived and snuffing it out like a candle.”

 

Dean groaned aloud, too caught up in the way Jimmy’s voice wrapped around each word to be embarrassed by it. He stroked himself slowly from root to tip, running his hand through the precome that had gathered at the head and using it to ease the glide back down.

 

“I want to beg you to leave me, to release whatever hold you have on me,

and I want to simultaneously plead with you to stay,

to keep me trapped in this stupefying fog that has blanketed the most inner parts of myself.

I want to explain to you, in detail perhaps too graphic,

all of the torturous things that I would like to do to your body,

all of the ways my lips could map the planes of your stomach,

my hands ghosting the expanse of your back,

my eyes finally falling on your own—finally seeing,

finally feeling.”

 

Dean’s hand was moving faster now, his desperation building with each syllable that fell from the other man’s lips. He felt teeth tugging at the lobe of his ear, and he whined- fucking whined- as his hips began to move, forcing his cock into his fist at a quicker pace.

 

“But when you were there against me,

shaking from the force of your own body’s reaction to me,

I moved away.

I stayed silent.

I can still taste the blood.

I bit straight through my tongue.”

 

There was a hand on his hip, stabilizing him, and a pair of lips pressed against the underside of his ear, and Dean was so fucking close that he couldn’t think straight.

“Please.” He was begging now, his hand a blur against himself, and his entire body was pulled taut.

“Are you going to come?” The words were rolling hotly against his ear, and he was dancing right on the edge.

“Please, please, please…” His toes curled in his boots, and Dean felt those teeth clamp down on his ear again.

“I wish I could see you, I wish I could watch.” Jimmy was whispering into his skin, and Dean was lost to everything but the feeling of the man’s body pressing against him from behind. He felt Jimmy’s arousal against his thigh, and that was it.

Dean came over his fist with a choked gasp, his other hand reaching blindly behind him to grip the coarse fabric of suit pants, pulling the other man harder against him. He heard a soft moan against the back of his neck, and hands gripped his shoulders as the other man trembled from the friction. Dean felt a damp spot against his bare back where his shirt had ridden up, and he knew that Jimmy had gotten off as well.

“Shit.” The curse was muttered into the fabric of his t-shirt, and Dean was comforted by the feeling of the other man scooting even closer.

“Stay.” He was half asleep as he spoke the word, reaching behind him again to find Jimmy’s hand. He pulled it around himself, lacing their fingers together.

“Just for a little while.” The man spoke softly, and Dean could have sworn that he felt a press of lips against his neck one more time before sleep overtook him.


	5. Five

It was a foreign sensation for Dean to wake up with a warm body pressed against him. He almost jerked away, demanding explanation, but the feeling of the other man nuzzling the back of his neck gave him pause. He was pulled closer to Jimmy by a hand on his hip, and he could hear the man behind him making sleepy noises against the fabric on the back of his t-shirt.

Dean let himself relax into the embrace, exhaling happily as his thoughts spun around in his head. Ellen would kick his ass if she knew that he had allowed a client to stay in the same bed as him all night. What’s more is that Dean was actually considering telling Jimmy that he didn’t want to be paid for their night together. The thought brought him up short, slamming into him at full speed and knocking the air from his lungs.

He was in dangerous, uncharted territory, and it terrified him. And yet, as scary as the situation was, Dean found himself more than willing to take things farther with the man. His life had recently been so dark and familiar, but Jimmy had brought a sense of unpredictability into it, and Dean was, without question, hooked on the feeling of the other man holding onto him, pressing close from behind.

Dean realized then that it would be so easy to turn in Jimmy’s arms, to finally lay his eyes on the owner of that voice, to get a glimpse at the face of the man who had been invading his thoughts for over a week now. As if sensing this, Jimmy tightened his grip, mumbling nonsense into the back of Dean’s neck, and he wondered if perhaps the collapse of the great mystery around this man would ruin the appeal of their relationship.

He flinched at the thought. Relationship? Since when was he seeing this thing with Jimmy as a relationship? Since when had Dean even wanted to be with anyone for a prolonged period of time? This thing with Jimmy was messing with his head, no doubt. It was spinning him in circles and disorienting him. He’d only spoken to the guy three times, for God’s sake (if you didn’t count the brief phone call they had shared earlier tonight).

“You’re thinking way too hard.” Jimmy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, followed by a soft press of teeth against his shoulder.

And, Jesus, that fucking voice while it was wrapped in sleepiness like that? Any and all of Dean’s reservations flew out the window.

“How did you even know I was awake?” He grinned around the words.

“People tend to breathe much deeper when they are asleep.” Jimmy’s hand moved slowly upward as he spoke from where it rested on Dean’s hip, lifting his shirt as he went and brushing over his ribs.

Dean bit his lip, feeling his downstairs brain stirring underneath the blanket.

“Dude,” he groaned, “Unless you’re planning on round two, you should stop that.”

“How long were we asleep?” There was a deep chuckle in Dean’s ear, but Jimmy’s fingers stilled.

“It’s just after one.” Dean squinted at the clock on the bedside table next to him.

“I should go,” Jimmy hummed against Dean’s skin, and the words made his stomach roll.

He wanted to protest, to grab hold of the man and refuse to let him go, but Dean had to keep reminding himself that Jimmy was a client.

“You’re so warm, though,” Dean murmured, pulling the blanket to his chin and pressing back, closer to the warmth behind him.

“I doubt this is how you intended to spend your night off.”

Dean grimaced at that. This was so much better than anything he would have done tonight.

“It’s okay, man. I’ve had a long day, and this was…” He paused. “It was nice.”

“It was,” Jimmy hummed his agreement. “Do you… Do you want to talk about your day?”

And yes, Dean wanted to. He wanted to tell this perfect stranger about the ticking clock hanging over his head, counting down every second leading to Sammy’s birthday. He wanted to talk about the recurring nightmares, a house full of smoke and his mother’s screams. He wanted to open up, to lay himself bare for this man he hardly knew, and Dean wanted it so badly that he could feel it churning in his chest. But he didn’t say any of those things.

“What color are your eyes?” he mumbled instead, exhaling deeply to remove any stray thoughts of his family.

“Blue,” Jimmy replied, and Dean could feel the other man’s nose nuzzling against the back of his head, “Sometimes dark, sometimes light, but always distinctively blue.”

“And your hair?” Dean took a moment to gather his nerve before stretching his arms over his own head and reaching to sift his fingers through Jimmy’s soft tresses. His hair felt thick under his hands and long enough to tug on, so Dean fisted his hands and gave a gentle pull.

“Dark brown, almost black.” The words were a breathy whine in Dean’s ear, and he felt his lower half stirring again.

Dean moaned softly, trying to imagine this guy’s face, to picture the shape of his lips and the line of his jaw.

“Wanna see you,” he breathed shakily, “Maybe not tonight, but someday.”

Jimmy gasped at his words, his hand traveling downward from where it had been planted on Dean’s ribs. “May I touch you?”

If Dean wasn’t completely hard already, that would have done the trick. “Fuck yes.”

Jimmy’s hand edged lower, fingers dancing around Dean’s belly button before grazing his hip and travelling down his thigh, shoving his jeans down as he went. Dean assisted in kicking his pants and boxers down to his calves, taking in staggered breaths when Jimmy’s hand moved up the inside of his thigh.

“I’ve never done this before.” That deep voice rumbled, and Dean bucked his hips forward at the sound of it. “If I do something wrong, just-”

“Perfect, man,” Dean babbled, already only half-coherent and he hadn’t even been touched yet. “You’re fucking perfect.”

“I assure you, I am far from perfect.” Jimmy chuckled against Dean’s ear, running the pad of his thumb against the vein that ran along the underside of the man’s erection, eliciting a soft groan from him.

“Close enough.”

Dean couldn’t keep his hips still once Jimmy wrapped a loose fist around him. The touch was magnificent, but it wasn’t enough friction. He made a small noise of desperation before wrapping his hand around Jimmy’s and adjusting his grip. He thought he heard a muttered apology, but Dean was too far gone.

“Fuck. Your hands are just as bad as your voice.” Dean continued to piston his hips slowly, feeling the muscles of his thighs starting to clench already. Every time he withdrew himself from Jimmy’s fist, he felt his bare ass rub against the other man’s tented dress pants and it caused Jimmy to circle the palm of his hand over the head of his erection, sending sparks of electricity all the way down to Dean’s toes.

Jimmy pressed closer, and Dean figured that the friction was just as maddening for him.

“Take your pants off. Wanna touch you.” He spoke through gritted teeth, hands shaking from the restraint it took to keep from emptying himself into Jimmy’s hand so soon.

“No.” The other man’s whisper brought him up short, and Dean stopped moving. Of course, Jimmy seized the opportunity for control and started moving his hand against him, picking up speed rather quickly. “Just let me take care of you.”

“I’m trying to be helpful here,” Dean whined, fisting his hands into Jimmy’s hair again, relishing in the growl it ripped from the other man.

Jimmy shushed him, wrapping his lips around a spot on Dean’s neck and sucking on the skin there, nibbling on it with his teeth and laving over it with his tongue. When Jimmy pulled away, and Dean felt the familiar soreness of a bruise on his skin, he lost himself.

He must have blacked out, because when Dean reopened his eyes, the bed was empty.

The clock on the night stand was flashing brightly.

4:07

 

\-------------------------------

 

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he hadn't thought about it, about him. Even as he sat in his desk before class started, he could barely pay attention to what Jo was rambling on about. Dean blinked, glancing at the clock, noting that class would start in just over five minutes. It was too much.

Everything was. Since he started working for Ellen, he had been exceptionally good at compartmentalizing the appointments from his personal life. The first few months had been difficult, but the longer he worked, the easier it became. In all honesty, in the entire span of years he has had his job, he'd yet to have a client that piqued his interest outside of the job.

Jimmy, though... When those lips touched his skin, Dean was immediately overcome with a sense that they belonged there. And feeling something like that in his line of work always ended badly, from the stories he had heard from his coworkers.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Jo's words rang like annoying bells in his ears, jolting Dean from his thoughts.

"What?"

He was vaguely aware of the girl sighing loudly before she cleared her throat and started talking again. Dean tried not to get lost in his contemplating, but it was a lost cause.

He tried to imagine what he looked like, this Jimmy. He probably had soft features; perfect intoxicating lips that were made to spill such beautiful words, his breath ghosting the back of Dean's neck and causing him to shiver.

"Good morning, class. I'm sure you're all aware that Mr. Turner had to leave early."

The words pulled Dean from his reverie, causing him to glance around the room, searching for the source of them. A small wave of confusion blanketed him as his eyes fell on the teacher standing awkwardly at the front of the room. Then, the realization hit. It felt like a punch to the stomach, and he did the only reasonable thing for anyone to do in a situation such as this.

Dean stood, rushing out of the room while (what's his name? Novak?) was in mid-sentence. He ignored the eyes that were no doubt following him out the door, not the he had a choice. The unrelenting tide of guilt and embarrassment all but blocked his vision. When he pushed open the door to the men's restroom, he exhaled a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding the entire way down the hallway, groaning with frustration as he lowered himself to sit in the floor.  How could something like this happen? He purposely works four hours away to avoid things like this.

Mysterious, unknown Jimmy was actually his nerdy English professor.

Dean considered the man. He was in his early thirties with prominent features. His jawline was strong, jutting out to a nicely-rounded chin that was always covered with a permanent five o'clock shadow. His hair was dark and longer than Dean's, kept in a messy nest atop his head, a nice contrast to his bright blue eyes. He always wore a collared, button down shirt with a pair of slacks that were, in Dean's opinion, too tight for a male teacher to be allowed to wear, all covered by an oversized khaki trench coat.

He shook the thoughts from his head. Of course, there was no way of pursuing anything with him. It's against all of his rules. Dean took a deep breath and stood, deciding that this would be a lot less complicated if he just dropped his class. He glared at his reflection for a moment, internally cursing himself before exiting the bathroom.

"There you are." The way his voice made Dean's heart try to claw its way out of his throat was annoyingly frustrating. He turned to face his teacher, who had a severely worried expression on his face.

Not that Dean could tell. Their gazes were locked.

"Are you okay? You left in kind of a rush back there. I hope my being there didn't upset you. I understand you and Rufus were close."

A small laugh. That smile. Had Dean really not noticed how attractive he was until this point?

"No, I just... Um..." He blanked, feeling uncomfortably nervous to the point where words wouldn't come to him.

After a moment of silence, Dean trying dumbly to process that he needed to speak, the teacher chuckled.

"It's that bad, huh? Maybe I should stick to sitting in the back."

"No, I just... It's been a long day. I don't know where my head is lately." Dean tried to talk deeper than he normally would, attempting to mask his voice.

Castiel- that was his name, Dean remembered- nodded, considering the words. "Very well, then. I won't keep you. I just tend to get a little nervous when students bolt in the middle of class."

Dean gave him an apologetic nod.

"It won't happen again."

Another smile. Dean was almost certain he was able to hear his pounding heart.

"Take the rest of class off and go home. You look like you could use some rest."

Dean nodded dumbly, turning to walk away.

"Dean?"

Shit. The sound of that fucking voice wrapped around his name was sinful. Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Castiel's brilliant smile.

"See you in class on Wednesday."


	6. Six

It was a nice kiss, really. Dean smiled against the man’s lips, not entirely sure if he could remember the last time he’d been kissed so gently. He let out a soft, contented sigh when those lips travelled down his neck, the scratch of stubble catching on his skin and leaving a tingling burn in its wake. He made a point not to do this with clients, of course.

No kissing. No attachments.

It was a good motto to live by, but Dean was exceptionally frustrated at his predicament with his teacher that he wandered out to the bar, picked up a nice guy. Benny was, judging by his gentle demeanor and the way he unhurriedly unbuttoned Dean’s shirt, a giver. This is what Dean would classify as someone who’s more interested in getting someone else off, ignoring their own need until their partner was satisfied.

And, yeah.

A giver is exactly what Dean needed. He leaned his head back as Benny nipped at his neck, tongue darting out over his pulse point, and Dean felt a mattress against the back of his knees even though he didn’t remember moving further into Benny’s room.

“What’s this?” Benny’s voice was gruff, and Dean felt the man’s finger lingering over the mark that Jimmy had left underneath his jawline.

Dean stilled underneath Benny’s hands, trying to come up with an adequate answer.

“It’s okay, brother.” The man’s touches were soft, fingers distancing themselves from the fading bruise. Dean tried to squash down the aching in his chest at the thought of the mark disappearing.

“It’s someone I need to forget.” His gaze met Benny’s, and the man nodded, a sense of understanding passing between the two of them before Dean felt his shirt being pushed from his shoulders.

There were lips on him again, dancing over his shoulders and up the unmarked side of his neck—Dean was thankful for this, because he didn’t want to think of anyone else’s mouth on the other side of his neck—and trailing over his jaw.

“I’ll help you forget,” Benny breathed, and Dean could smell the stale beer and spearmint gum on the man’s breath.

He managed a small nod before there were hands on his bare shoulders, pushing him to sit on the bed behind him. Dean parted his thighs to accommodate the other man as he stepped closer. Benny’s hand moved to his forehead, tilting Dean’s head back so he could press their mouths together again. This kiss was a little deeper, but it wasn’t demanding. Benny kissed with intent, his tongue snaking out to sneak past the seam of Dean’s lips, searing every crevice inside his mouth with a promise to make everything better.

And it was so caring that Dean thought that he might cry.

Benny was kneeling between Dean’s knees, pulling his face downward to keep the kiss from breaking until he absolutely had no other choice because of the insistent need to breathe. He mouthed his way down Dean’s chest, lips latching onto his right nipple, and Dean’s sharp intake of breath must have been a dead giveaway, because Benny laved over the small bud with his tongue before moving to the other one. Then, there was a palm pressed to the middle of his chest, and Dean was being laid backwards.

He sighed at the feeling of Benny’s lips kissing around his navel, tongue darting out every so often to taste his skin. He was consciously aware that the man was unlacing his boots, pulling them off one at a time, rolling his socks down once he was finished.

This was nice. It had been too long since someone had wanted to take care of him like this. Maybe he was overthinking things with Jimmy— Castiel— because there’s no way that anyone in their right mind would want to be in a relationship with a prostitute.

Dean felt his belt being pulled from its loops, and suddenly, Benny’s face was looming over him.

“Stay with me, now.” There were fingers smoothing out the worried lines on Dean’s face, and he was unexpectedly very grateful that Benny was here. “Don’t go floating off in your head. Stay with me.”

Dean leaned upwards to connect their lips for a brief moment, and Benny was still staring at him when he pulled away. It made something tug painfully in his chest, the thought of blue eyes looking at him so openly caring and-

Benny pushed down on the tented crotch of Dean’s pants, yanking him from his thoughts.

“Holy-” Dean cursed, locking their gazes again, and Benny nodded before nipping down his chest once more. There was a fumbling of buttons, the sound of a zipper, and then Dean was lifting his hips to assist Benny in the removal of his jeans. The man pulled the denim all the way off of Dean’s legs, fingers trailing back up to play under the waistband of his boxers. Dean’s breath hitched when he felt a stubbled chin dragging over the inner part of his thighs. He knew that it would be no use to ask Benny to hurry the hell up, so he fisted his hands in the comforter and waited for whatever the man was planning to do. There was a small amount of pressure—teeth?—pressing into his thigh through his boxers, and Dean had to focus really hard on not bucking his hips up impatiently.

And then Benny was mouthing at his cock through the thin fabric, the warmth of his spit soaking the material and making it cool when he pulled away. Dean resisted the urge to whimper when he felt the wet heat of Benny’s tongue crawling up his leg and edging into the leg of his boxers. There were hands at the waistband, pulling down slowly, and Dean felt as if three years had passed before his erection smacked against his stomach, finally free of the fabric.

“Shit. You’re so hard for me.” Benny peppered his thighs with kisses, pushing them farther apart and mouthing at his balls.

Dean groaned, feeling that warm tongue sliding over his balls before moving downward, pressing insistently at the skin just behind them. And, yeah, Dean would have totally just been okay with the guy sucking him off, but he could totally get on board with this. He canted his hips up, arching his back in an attempt to get more contact, but he only felt the rumble of Benny chuckling against his skin.

“Eager, are we?”

“Please, I-” But the rest of Dean’s words were drowned out in a long groan as Benny swallowed his cock. It took Dean so off guard that he pistoned his hips into that warmth without thinking, Benny’s arm coming up to rest across his hipbones, stilling him as he made his way down further until his nose was buried in the small patch of hair at the bottom.

And he stayed there. Swallowing around Dean and driving him crazy with each time the muscles of his throat fluttered around him.

“Shit, Benny. Fuck. Shitshitshit,” Dean babbled, out of breath and almost wheezing when Benny pulled off of him.

Only to go back down after a quick breath.

By the fourth time Benny repeated this process, Dean was a sobbing mess.

“Benny. M’gonna. Y’gotta. I-” He knew that it was embarrassingly soon, but the guy was relentless, bobbing and sucking and swallowing and – _fuck_.

Benny descended once more, and it took two more seconds for Dean to erupt down his throat, spasming on the bed with what little freedom to move he had. And Benny fucking _groaned_ as he swallowed every drop, like it was the sweetest thing that he had ever tasted. Dean was lying boneless on the bed, and he felt as if he should be stewing over something but he couldn’t remember what.

“Much better.” He could feel Benny smiling against his skin, and Dean sighed contentedly.

“Your turn?” His voice was broken when he spoke, and he remembered that he had been practically screaming for the past five minutes.

The chuckle he got in response was deep. “No way, brother. ‘M not done with you yet.”

Dean was confused by the words, but then there were hands pushing him up higher on the bed. He wiggled his way upward, resting his head on Benny’s pillow and noting that it smelled like aftershave and some kind of potent shampoo. When Benny joined him on the bed, he noticed that the man had taken his clothes off. Dean sent him an appreciative sweep with his eyes, and Benny grinned, reaching into the bedside table before scooting down between Dean’s spread legs.

“Need you to come at least twice more before I can. It’s policy.” Benny chuckled into Dean’s thigh, and the younger man groaned at the thought.

“How the hell are you gonna manage that?” His voice was a breathy whisper, and when he didn’t get an answer, he figured that Benny hadn’t heard him.

Then, hands were rough on his hips, flipping him onto his stomach and that hot, wet tongue was travelling the crack of Dean’s ass. He felt Benny’s fingers pull his cheeks apart and a chaste kiss was placed right over his hole. Dean felt his spent cock stirring against the bed sheet, and he groaned. That’ll do it.

Benny’s tongue was, in a word, perfect. Dean felt as if he could write a fucking sonnet about it, the way it twisted and pulled and stretched inside him. By the time Benny worked a single slicked up finger inside of him, Dean was dangerously close to coming again. He rocked forward against the mattress, then back onto Benny’s finger, and Dean felt suspended in time and space when Benny’s tongue traced his rim again, wiggling his finger experimentally, and he came.

And still, Benny kept pushing into him, adding another finger after applying more lube. When the tips of those fingers grazed his prostate, Dean honest-to-God yelped, seizing on the bed as he felt (by some miraculous act of God) his cock starting to fill again.

“Again,” he rasped, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees to rock back with more purpose. “Please. More.”

Benny inserted another finger, and the stretch was a welcome burn as he rubbed ruthlessly at the spot inside Dean that made his toes curl.

“Benny," Dean gasped after about ten full minutes of relentless fingering. His arms had given out, and he was supported by his forearms on the mattress, his knees underneath him. “Benny, get in me.”

“One more, Dean.” The man pressed a kiss to Dean’s lower back, and he could hear the desperation in the gruff voice as he spoke.

“Not until you’re in me, Benny.” Dean shook his head, whimpering at a particularly hard press against his prostate. “Please. Wanna come around you. Wanna feel you.”

Benny groaned at the words, and Dean felt the fingers pull out of him. He felt as if he was gaping open, the air in the room cooling his exposed hole as Benny moved away to roll the condom on. He heard the sound of the lube being closed and a low growl that indicated that Benny was slicking himself up. Then, the head of the other man’s cock was pressed against him.

Dean knew that Benny probably wanted to take this slowly, to pick Dean apart piece by piece, but he was desperate for _more_. He somehow found enough strength in his arms to push himself backward, impaling himself on Benny’s cock, and hot damn, that was exactly what he needed. Benny instinctively wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him up so that his back was pressed to the man’s chest as he rolled his hips experimentally.

“Not a fucking piece of glass, Benny. Move _._ ” Dean pushed back insistently, and Benny withdrew completely before slamming back in and making Dean fucking _howl_.

There were teeth against the back of his neck, and Dean knew that he should ask Benny to stop, but why the hell should he? If he wanted to walk around with Benny’s mark on him, then he should be allowed to. After all, he hadn’t had any qualms about-

Dean’s orgasm snuck up on him, ripping a startled scream from his lips as he trembled around Benny. The man grunted, shoving Dean back onto his stomach and quickening his pace to a frantic rate. When Benny came, he fisted a hand into Dean’s hair and whispered praises into the space between his shoulders.

The man rolled off of him, and Dean chuckled.

“That was fucking amazing.”

“Benny.” The man looked pointedly at Dean, and he was suddenly very confused.

“What?” Dean questioned, brows drawing together. For Christ’s sake, he had just had three orgasms, and he wasn’t up for stimulating conversation.

“The name’s Benny,” the older man clarified, closing his eyes as he spoke.

“I know that,” Dean mumbled, trying not to let his own eyes close.

“Then why were you calling out for someone named ‘Cas’ that last time?”

Dean almost swallowed his tongue. “What?”

Benny didn’t answer, though. He opened his eyes and turned to face Dean, running his fingers over the small mark that Castiel had left on his neck.

After a few moments, Benny finally spoke again. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m a prostitute.” Dean glared at him, hoping that would shut him up.

“I know.” Benny removed his hands from Dean’s neck and turned onto his back again.

“What do you mean, you know?”

“I mean, I know. The workers always act differently when you sit next to them.” Benny shrugged, closing his eyes again. “I’m not paying.”

Dean frowned. “It was my night off.”

“I know.” Benny smiled, taking a deep breath. “So, do you wanna talk about him?”

“He’s a client.” Dean buried his face into the pillow. “He’s a virgin client with a voice that sounds like sex who reads me poetry and also happens to be my interim English professor.”

“Oh.” Benny’s eyebrows rose at the words, but his eyes stayed closed. Dean yawned.

“Rest, Dean. I know you’re not accustomed to staying over, but your body had quite the workout.”

Dean nodded, keeping his face buried in the pillow. “Don’t make this awkward in the morning.”

“Gotta leave at 5 for work. Don’t steal anything on your way out.” Benny chuckled.

“’Kay,” Dean mumbled before the darkness overtook him.


	7. Seven

“So?” Jo was sitting in the front seat of the Impala, breaking the long silence that the two of them were basking in. “I hate to be ‘that guy,’ Dean, but you need to make a decision. Mom and I are worried about you.”

Dean shook his head.

“I have six weeks before a decision has to be made, Jo.”

“Dean-”

“It’s not just a matter of unplugging him. He could wake up any day now… What if he’s supposed to wake up on May 3rd? What if I’m killing him instead of saving him?” He cut her off, speaking lowly to the steering wheel.

Every time Jo or Ellen brought up Sam, it was as if they were taking a razorblade and splitting him open. Yes, Dean knew that he should give the idea some thought, but in his mind, the more he put it off, the less it hurt.

“I’m going to drop English.”

He threw the topic out in order to change the subject. And it worked, thankfully.

“What?” He could feel Jo staring at him as she spoke. “Why would you do that? You have an A in there, and there’s less than 2 months until the end of the semester.”

“I have my reasons, okay?” Dean shrugged, stepping out of the car and stretching his arms above his head. “I’m gonna go chat with Professor Novak before class and get it all sorted out.”

“Dean, wait.” Jo got out of the car as well, frowning over at him. “This makes no sense. If you’re upset about Sam, then be upset about Sam. Don’t throw your future away because of this.”

And that made Dean kind of angry. What did Jo know about this situation? What did she even know about Sam? Or Jimmy?

“Listen, Jo… Just stay out of it.” His voice was cold, and he got a small amount of satisfaction from the way she recoiled.

“Fine.” She held her hands up in surrender, and Dean was particularly pleased with himself. “But I’m telling mom.”

“Whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes as he strolled into the building.

The hallway was busy, crowded with students who had just gotten out of their classes. Dean glanced at his watch, noting that he had 20 minutes until class started. He took a moment to steady himself outside of his professor’s door, pacing back and forth in the hallway and taking deep breaths. Finally, after what felt like hours, he rapped his knuckles against the dark wood of Castiel Novak' s office.

"Come in."

He could practically hear the smile in the guy’s voice as he was beckoned inside. Dean opened the door, leaving it open as he slipped into the small space. Hot damn, it _smelled_ like Jimmy in there.

"Oh. Dean." Castiel smiled around the name and Dean felt like his chest was exploding. "I was just looking over your essay on 'The Metamorphosis.' It's eloquently written. Very nice. You're one of the brightest I have this semester. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I, um... Actually, I was here to tell you that I need to drop your class..." Dean’s tone lowered as he finished his sentence, and he couldn't help but feel that nagging sense of guilt as the teacher’s face fell. He motioned for Dean to close the door, and he hesitantly complied.

"...I don't understand." Castiel looked down at the papers scattered around his desk as if searching for some kind of explanation there. "You thrive in my class. You have a perfect grade, and the semester is over in a few weeks. If you're worried about the final, you shouldn't be. It'll be cake for you, but I'd be more than willing to help you review."

"It's not about academics, Dr. Novak. It's more or less..." Dean sighed, forcing himself to say the words. "Personal preference."

The professor's eyebrows rose at that, and he paused for a moment before speaking.

"I see." He shook his head, looking around the room for a sign of consolation to offer. "What's bothering you? I can do my best to help you through what's left of the course, that way all of your hard work isn't wasted."

"I, um..." Dean massaged his temples. This was too much to handle. Why can’t he just drop the class?

"Listen." Castiel's voice was soothing. "The school has pretty strict policies on dropping classes. With a grade as high as yours, it's going to be nearly impossible."

Dean finally made himself look at the man, the bright blue eyes practically gluing him to the floor.

"I'm sorry, but, respectfully, I can't come to your class anymore. Even if that means tarnishing my record." His shoulders slumped, and he felt utterly defeated.

The professor leaned back in his chair, considering the ultimatum.

"You have a 4.0 GPA, Mr. Winchester." Dean could tell that he was both upset and hurt by this behavior. "If I have done something so wrong that you would jeopardize years of dedication to get away from me, then I have no choice. If you'd be willing to explain why you feel the need to go to great lengths in order to drop my class, then I think we can work something out. Maybe you could send me your remaining assignments online? Or leave them in my box?"

"That's not an option." Dean's voice was flat, emotionless.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

A groan of frustration escaped Dean’s lips before he could stop it. "Why are you being so difficult?"

He murmured the words under an exasperated breath, and the teacher let out an un-amused laugh.

"I'm not being difficult. You're being unreasonable."

Dean ground the heels of his palms into his eyes for a frustrating moment before he felt something inside him snap.

"Unreasonable? Because I won't tell you what's going on in my head? There's a conflict of interest here. There's got to be some law that forbids you and me to be in a classroom-type situation, a situation where my educational future is in your hands. I refuse to put your career at risk like that. Or my future career. Or my current one. I can't, Jimmy, I can't. So, just let me drop the class." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger, taking another deep breath to calm himself. “Just… Let me drop it, okay?”

And then, Dean realized…

He had called him Jimmy.

It took Castiel a moment to process what had happened. His jaw unclenched as he thought, finally breaking the silence that covered them.

"Jen, I presume?" He laced his fingers together, setting them on top of his desk. "This makes more sense now." Their eyes met, and Dean felt himself stop breathing.

"I don't want to put either of us in a precarious position. It would be simpler if we just… Didn’t." He gnawed on his lower lip nervously.

"And I understand that. But what you need to understand is that we did nothing wrong. There's nothing to be ashamed of or worried about. We are both legal, consenting adults." He offered Dean a small smile, but it was shaky. "You should stay in the class. I wish you'd consider it, but if the situation makes you uncomfortable, I can allow you to turn your assignments into my box."

"There's no chance you'll let me drop it?" Dean knew the answer before he asked the question.

"Not a chance." The teacher nodded, flashing a grin that all but paralyzed him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. I will have my next assignment in the box by Thursday."

 

 --------------------------

 

Dean was tired.

Also hungry.

He sat up on the couch he had been laying on, turning off Dr. Sexy and stretching. It was approximately noon, and Dean had the night off, so he didn’t have any plans to get out of the house. And yet, cooking seemed like too much effort. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled down to the number of the Chinese place down the street, ordering two helping of sesame chicken with eggrolls on the side.

He stood then, stretching and pulling on his boots. The woman on the phone said to give her about ten minutes, and by the time he walked down the street to the restaurant, his food would be ready. Dean grabbed his wallet and headed outside. On the way to the restaurant, he thought about Sam and what he was going to do when his birthday rolled around. How could he just let his little brother go? How could he allow him to keep living a life that he wasn’t really living?

The answer was simple enough. He’d ignore the situation until he absolutely had to face it.

Dean swung open the door to The Golden Dragon, giving the woman behind the counter his name. In three minutes, he had paid and was headed out the door, a paper sack in his hand. That was the inopportune moment for some jerk that wasn't looking where he was going to run right into him, spilling the sesame chicken all over the sidewalk.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I- Dean?"

He looked up at Castiel, a grimace on his face. He was frozen for a moment before he managed to speak.

"Here lies my dinner. A life short-lived and riddled with disappointment. Taken too soon in what can only be described as a pedestrian-related vehicular accident-- sans vehicle."

Castiel grinned, and Dean chuckled nervously. It had been about two weeks since he had started turning his assignments into the professor’s box, but the awkward tension was still lurking around them.

“I wasn’t really that hungry anyway.”

"Please, let me order you some more chicken."

Dean pondered his offer, his instincts screaming at him to walk back home and have a bowl of cereal instead. But the smell of sesame chicken wafting up from the concrete made his stomach growl. Loudly.

"Add rice, and you've got yourself a deal."

Castiel’s smile was brilliant, and a familiar feeling shot through Dean when he realized that he was the one who made him smile like that; it was terrifying. Castiel held the door open for Dean and led him to a table. He paused for a moment before sitting in the booth across from him.

"I hear this place has the best egg rolls." Castiel’s smile wavered slightly, no doubt noticing the uncomfortable expression on Dean’s face.

He didn't want the teacher under the impression that this was a date, even though it was starting to feel like one. The thought caused Dean’s face to heat up, and he stared down at the table.

"Listen." Castiel’s voice was soft. "I don’t see any reason why we can’t be friends here.”

“You don’t?” Dean frowned at the dark wood of the table as he smoothed his thumb over one of the dark knots riddling it. “I mean, the situation isn’t exactly normal. As a matter of fact, it's pretty damn awkward."?

“I know.” Dean didn’t have to look up—he could hear the frown in Castiel’s voice. “I was thinking that maybe… After the semester was over we could-”

“Can I get you something?”

Thankfully, the waitress cut him off, because Dean felt as if he could open his mouth and spit out his lungs.

“Yes, I’ll have an order of beef lo Mein with an eggroll, coke to drink. And, Dean?”

“I’ll have…” He coughed, testing his voice before speaking up, “I’ll have an order of sesame chicken with rice.”

“Eggrolls?” The woman smiled.

“Of course.” Castiel nodded.

“Is this for here or to go?”

The teacher murmured ‘here’ at the same time Dean said ‘to go,’ and the waitress frowned.

“I’m dining in. My friend isn’t.” Castiel clarified, and she nodded.

“Twenty minutes.”

The two men nodded as she walked away, and Dean took another deep breath before those eyes were fixed on him again.

“Anyway, where were we?” Castiel looked down at his roll of silverware, tearing a small corner of his napkin off and twisting it between his fingers.

“We can’t.” Dean kept his voice low, his eyes trained on the small piece of paper being shredded and twisted in the man’s hands. He felt very similar to that piece of paper.

“I’m not asking for an appointment, Dean.”

The words were painful to hear, but Dean kept a straight face. “Oh?”

“No. I’m not asking for Jensen in this situation. I’m asking for Dean.”

“Look, I get it, okay?” Dean put both hands on the table slowly, trying to squash down the urge to slam them against the wood. “You’re a fixer, right? You helped Meg get into nursing school, and now you want to help me. The thing is, I’m happy with what I do. I make enough money to take care of what I need to take care of, and I’m in school. I’m not a project for you, okay?”

“If you’re as happy as you claim to be, then why can’t we be friends?” Castiel’s voice was a deep rumble, and Dean ignored the way his muscles clenched at the sound of it,

But how was he supposed to answer that? With the truth? No. That wasn’t an option.

And yet, Dean heard the words spilling from his lips without his consent.

“Because there are _feelings_.”

Castiel looked as taken aback as Dean felt.

“I don’t understand…”

“Feelings, man.” He had already opened his fat mouth, so why not explain himself? Dean wanted to go bury himself in a hole. “For you. It’s the number one rule in the business, y’know? ‘Don’t get attached.’ And yet, here you are and here I am, and here we are and, god dammit, I’m attached.”

“You’re attached?” The man said the words slowly, as if trying to find some sort of hidden meaning in the words as he straightened out the twisted piece of napkin, smoothing out any imperfections. “To me?”

Dean opened his mouth to speak at the same time the waitress set down their food on the table and walked away. He said a small prayer of gratitude to a God he didn’t entirely believe in and stood. “I should-”

Castiel’s fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, and he stopped cold, remembering the way those fingers felt on other places of his body and he almost groaned aloud because _damn it_ , he was so screwed.

“Dean, please.”

It was too much. Dean wanted to run away from the feelings stirring in his gut. He wanted to pin his teacher to the table and show him exactly what he had meant. He wanted to sit down and talk to him, to explain all of the twisted pieces inside of him and let Castiel smooth them out.

Dean gave his wrist a small tug, and Castiel relinquished his grip, a pained look on his face.

That was the last thing Dean saw before he walked away.


	8. Eight

Castiel pulled absentmindedly at the tie around his neck. He massaged his scalp with his free hand, sighing softly as he climbed the flight of stairs to open a door to his building. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering as he walked across the lobby, clutching a bag of Chinese takeout in his hand. He was exhausted, but his thoughts were restless, pulling up every memory of his nights with Dean over and over.

He knew that having feelings for a student wasn't really uncommon for the men in his line of work. It had been so long since he had felt anything along the lines of romance, though. He heard about teacher-student relationships that ended up being the professors taking advantage of their pupils, but that's not what he wanted. He didn't want to take advantage. He just wanted to know him.

He hurried forward, fitting his hands between the elevator doors before they closed, and making his way inside.

"What are you doing here?" The voice behind him seemed angry, causing him to turn. "I'm working. Why are you here? You can't be here."

Dean's voice was a low hiss, and Castiel held his hands up in defense, unable to keep his eyes from looking the student over. He was wearing a black suit that fit nicely across the shoulders.

"I live in the penthouse upstairs." Castiel pressed the button as a display of proof.

"Of course, you do..." Dean sighed, leaning against the far wall. "Sorry. It's just been a bad day. I'm just kind of waiting for something else unpleasant to happen to me."

"And I fall under the 'unpleasant' category." He nodded seriously, eyeing Dean before cracking a smile. "Good to know."

He could see the younger man’s face getting red. "That's not what I meant." He grinned. "I was just sayi-"

Dean was cut off when the elevator lurched to a halt, making a sickening noise. Castiel noticed the way he gripped the railing, squeezing his eyes shut until the motions stilled. The teacher reached out and pressed the call button, and seconds later, a man's voice was ringing through the car.

"Yes?"

"Henry... It's Castiel Novak. I live in the penthouse." His eyes moved back to Dean, who was forcing himself to take deep breaths.

"Yes, sir. What seems to be the problem?"

"I was actually hoping you could tell us?" He wedged his fingers between the doors, prying them apart about an inch. There were approximately two inches of the next floor visible through the crack. "The elevator's stuck between floors, and the young man with me seems to be pretty claustrophobic."

He glanced back to Dean to confirm his suspicions, but he wasn't paying attention. He had shrugged his suit jacket off and was standing with his back to the corner, eyes closed as he slowly rocked side-to-side, humming softly to himself.

"Yes, I am on the phone with the repair man." Henry's voice was distracted, listening to the other end of the phone. "He says it's going to be at least an hour before he can get here. If the man with you is panicking, you need to calm him down."

"Thanks, Henry. Keep us posted on the repair man." Castiel crossed the elevator, bending so that his eyes were level with Dean’s.

"Dean?" He was hesitant about touching him, so he settled for speaking softly.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I'm not claustrophobic?" Dean kept his eyes closed, a wry smile playing with the corners of his mouth, his breathing becoming more erratic with every second. "I'm just terrified of elevators."

"It's okay..." Castiel attempted to soothe him, setting his bag in the floor and reluctantly placing a hand on either side of his face. "Look at me."

Dean flinched at the touch, but didn't shove him away. His eyes opened and landed on his teacher’s, and Castiel gave him a sliver of a smile. "You're okay."

Castiel had no clue how long they stood like that before the younger man’s breathing regulated. He dropped his hands then.

"I knew something unpleasant was going to happen."

Castiel couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"You did. You called it."

Dean smiled, sinking to the floor with a sigh. "An hour?"

Castiel nodded and sat across from him. "An hour." He chuckled.

"I should call Ellen and let her know that I won't make my appointment." Dean sat cross legged, picking at a loose string on the button of his shirt before reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

Castiel tried to stop staring, but couldn't bring himself to pull his eyes away. Dean must have felt his gaze because, halfway through the explanation to his boss, he threw the coat at him. Castiel held the article of clothing carefully –it looked expensive—and he folded it before laying it across his lap. When Dean hung up the phone, he sighed and leaned his head back against the wall of the elevator.

"What's with the suit, anyway?" he inquired.

"I get paid to follow directions." Dean shrugged his question off, and Castiel watched his face closely, looking to see if his expression would betray what he was thinking.

No such luck.

"Inappropriate question alert." He raised his hands defensively. "But, why do you... Do what you do?"

"Do you know how expensive school is? Not to mention the need to have food and shelter and… Other expenses. I live comfortably." Dean shrugged again. "I've worked for Ellen since I was 18. She found me the day after..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "I don't have anyone else."

"What happened?"

His question was met by a steely glare, and he immediately changed the subject, motioning to the bag by his side.

"Hungry?"

Dean grinned and nodded, scooting across the small space to sit next to him as he shuffled through the bags.

"I have rice, general chicken, and sesame chicken." He looked up, surprised to see that he had moved. He could feel the heat radiating off of the younger man’s body.

"Sesame." Dean accepted the box he offered, taking a deep breath. "Thank you."

His voice was soft, sincere.

"...It's just chicken." Castiel eyed him quizzically.

"Not just for the chicken." He poked at the food with a pair of chopsticks. "For calming me down earlier. For not being judgmental about... What I do."

Castiel took in the words, his gaze never leaving Dean as he chewed. After a few minutes, a voice broke through the silence.

"Mr. Novak?"

Dean jumped at Henry's voice.

"Yes?"

"The repair man has arrived. He says it should be about 45 minutes until you guys get moving again."

"Thank you, Henry." Castiel smiled, nudging Dean with his shoulder. "Almost free."

He hoped the student couldn't pick up on the disappointment in his voice. In all honesty, he enjoyed just spending time with him.

"I used to paint, you know," Dean finally spoke up, causing Castiel to fix a puzzled look on him. "My parents and my brother, we lived in a small house, five people, three bedrooms, and a garage. My kid brother wanted the garage for his room, but my mom let me have it. I had this studio set up with all of these expensive art supplies that my dad worked two jobs to afford..." Dean smiled as he spoke, and Castiel stayed quiet. "Anyway, all of it wouldn't fit in any of the bedrooms, so I got the garage by default. My brother wasn't happy, but he got over it eventually." When Dean paused, Castiel could see the deep concentration etched into his features. The younger man looked distraught, broken. Castiel’s hand snaked out of its own accord, reaching for Dean’s and lacing their fingers. He was comforted by the fact that he made no move to pull away.

"It was a fire." Dean took a deep breath. "It just... Swallowed up the entire house. The house, not the garage. Mom and dad were gone, but Sammy… Sammy made it. He was in a bad way, though. My dad's life insurance took care of the funerals, but there was nothing left after that. I sold what art supplies that weren’t damaged so that I could pay for a motel room. I didn't have any family outside of them, so when the doctors told me that Sammy probably wouldn’t wake up any time soon, I realized that I was completely alone. I kind of lost it."

Dean’s hand was shaking in Castiel’s grip, and he tightened his hold on it, shifting minutely closer.

"I was in the hospital for about 5 months. I had nowhere to go and no one waiting for me when I got there. So, I slept under a bridge. And after a day of living on the streets, I went to the top of that bridge with every intention of quitting. Ellen found me there, on the ledge, afraid of jumping like a goddamn coward. She took me back to her place and got me enrolled in school. She paid my medical bills for me, she took care of Sam, let me stay there for free, never asking for anything in return. When I turned 18, I offered to start working for her. She was against it. She had this fierce notion that she was supposed to protect me, and she still does. After weeks of arguing about it, she caved. I have my own place now, and the income to pay her back for everything she's done for me, but she refuses to take a dime. She saved my life."

Castiel remained quiet, taking a breath and closing his eyes, head falling back against the wall. Finally, he broke the silence.

“What happened to your brother?”

Dean’s fingers tightened around his teacher’s hand, and Castiel was worried that he’d be closed off.

“He’s still in the hospital. Comatose. Unresponsive.” Dean’s voice was tighter than his grip on Castiel. “It’s been a while, y’know. Fourteen years, to be precise. He’ll be 21 in a month, and the doctors are telling me that it’s time to let him go. I can’t think about it, though. There just… There ain’t no me if there ain’t no him, y’know?”

Silence followed.

"I'm sorry." Dean’s voice was quieter, more stable. "I shouldn't have dumped all of that on you, I just… you asked."

"Please don't apologize." His words were soft, and it took a lot of will power for Castiel to not sound as desperate as he felt. "I have this compulsive need to know people. The good, the bad... All of it. You in particular have piqued my interest. I want to know everything, and I'm honored that you've opened up." He squeezed Dean’s hand. "So, please don't apologize."

Dean pulled his hand from the man’s, and Castiel felt instant regret, as if he had done something wrong. Dean turned to face him then, and Castiel could tell the significant change in the younger man’s breathing when his hand moved up to touch the stubble along his jawline.

That was the moment that Castiel knew he should stop. He should pull away and apologize and avoid him for two more weeks.

Just two weeks.

But he didn't stop. He didn't pull away, and he wished he could come up with a legitimate excuse as to why he was allowing this to happen. In all honesty, he was drawn to Dean, driven by a connection that almost seemed magnetic. It's the same reason he broke his own rule and touched on the nights they had spent together.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of breath on his face. His blue eyes locked onto the green ones in front of him, and he felt his fingers moving up his jaw line to roam into his hair. And then Dean was leaning in, pulling him towards a destination that he couldn't get to fast enough. Right before their lips connected though, the elevator jolted downward, causing Dean to fist his fingers into Castiel’s hair in reaction to the fear at the sudden movement. Castiel tried to contain the groan that fell from his lips as he tugged on his hair, and he immediately pulled away, avoiding Dean’s gaze as he stood, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

The car started moving then, and he knelt to gather up the empty food cartons.

"I'm sorry." He cleared his throat before speaking. "I, uh... I shouldn't have..."

His words escaped him. He was legitimately speechless, because now, their eyes were locked again, and what the younger man’s gaze was conveying stopped him short. He looked astonished, disappointed, and hungry. Castiel watched him as Dean stood, shaking his head as if to clear it, but his breaths still came out ragged. Dean picked up his coat just as the door opened, and the student promptly left the elevator without another word. Castiel looked after him until the doors closed, eliminating him from his line of sight.

"Goodnight..." He whispered to the empty space.


	9. Nine

It was a mistake.

A fluke.

A slip of miscommunication that had Dean believing that it was okay to touch him. To want him. To stop ignoring the ache that constantly gnawed at his gut whenever he thought of him.

But he shouldn't have done it.

It's damn near impossible for him to forget a single second of it, though. The feeling of his teacher’s skin underneath his fingertips was still skating across his mind, longing for more contact. The memory of Castiel’s breath on his face still made Dean’s skin flush, inviting him to come closer, to cross yet another line. Dean’s hands still felt soft, a trace of the teacher’s conditioner refusing to let him go from when his fingers had entangled themselves into the dark hair, struggling for purchase when he thought the floor was falling out from underneath them. And then, there was Cas’s fucking reaction to his fumbling.

A ragged, desperate groan that still echoed in Dean’s ears, causing him to shiver at the thought that he, not anyone else, had elicited such a needy sound from the man. It meant that he was feeling the same things that Dean was fighting, that he was probably the reason Cas wasn't getting as much sleep as he should be getting. The notion had Dean counting down the days until he was officially no longer his student.

9 days.

He bit down on his lower lip, glancing at his watch as he hurried down the hallway.

Ten minutes late. 

He grinned to himself, opening the classroom door and stepping inside.

"Sorry..." Dean apologized innocently to every pair of eyes fixed on him, lingering only slightly on the blue ones at the front of the room. "Traffic." He shrugged, choosing his usual seat next to the door.

He tried not to notice the way Castiel shifted uncomfortably when his eyes fell on him. He stood at the front of his desk, leaning against the edge of it, talking about Vonnegut or Poe; Dean wasn't really paying attention to his words. He was a little preoccupied controlling his own imagination, cursing himself because this wasn't the appropriate place for him to imagine how easy it would be for him to run his hands over the tight stretch of khaki below Castiel’s belt to make the pants even more uncomfortable for him. He bit his lip again, looking down at the worn wood of the desk in front of him, pictures flooding his thoughts before he could stop them.

He was holding Castiel against him, grinding his inexplicably stretched pants against his own hips, lifting the man to rest on the edge of his desk, spreading his legs to move closer as his stubble scratched the skin of his throat, his lips soothing away any irritation he may have caused.

"Dean?"

Castiel’s voice pulled him from his daydream, and he immediately felt ashamed, exposed. He looked up at the teacher, noticing that the room was empty and that Cas was now sitting in the desk next to his.

"Are you okay?"

Dean nodded breathlessly. Had he seriously spent over an hour of class time fantasizing about his teacher? 

"I didn't think you'd be coming today."

"Maybe I shouldn't have." Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, his face heating as he was barraged with images once more. "It's not like I retained a single word you said."

"Am I that boring to you?" 

Dean looked at him then. Really looked.

He was exhausted, like he had gotten about the same amount of sleep as Dean had.

"Not boring at all. My head's just a little more creative than I thought." He answered honestly.

"...I don't follow..?"

"You look like you haven't been sleeping." Dean changed the subject.

"It's that easy to notice?" 

When he nodded, Castiel kept talking. "I keep reliving what happened in the elevator, and I owe you an apology. I took a moment that was not at all sexual and I... Well..." He took an exasperated breath. "You pulled my hair. Out of shock and nothing else. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

"You're a man, Cas." He paused, smiling around the name. It was the first time he had said it aloud. "You apparently have a..." Dean searched for the appropriate word, grinning when he found it. "Carnal appreciation of having your hair pulled. It was a natural reaction."

"Nine days." Castiel said the words lowly, and it settled in Dean’s gut like a promise that sent shivers down his spine.

"And here I was, thinking I was the only one counting." Dean grinned again, standing from the desk. The feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket startled him, and he laughed, motioning for him to hold on.

"Ellen?"

“Hey there, Dean. I was just calling to let you know that Bela canceled on you tonight. That leaves you with only one.”

Dean narrowed his eyes in thought, remembering that he had his usual 6:00 appointment with Alistair tonight.

"Alright. Thanks." He hung up the phone and turned back to Castiel, who was looking at his hands.

"I guess that's my cue to leave?" Dean asked as he studied the teacher for a moment before those piercing eyes set themselves on him.

"What are you doing tonight?" He looked like he was thinking very intensely, choosing every word specifically.

"Free after 7:30." Dean raised a brow. "Why do you ask?"

"Could I see you tonight? At my place?" His eyes never moved off of Dean’s. "I'd like to talk to you about something, and maybe run something else by you in a literary sense?"

Dean frowned, wondering how badly Alistair was planning on treating him tonight, and of he would be up to going out. Still, as those thoughts plagued him, he found himself speaking.

"I don't see why not. See you around 8:30?"

"That'll be perfect. I'll cook." Castiel took a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing an infinitesimal amount.

"Awesome." Dean nodded. "I'll see you tonight then."

"See you tonight."

 

\---------------------------------

 

Dean groaned as he pulled on his leather jacket, trying his best to ignore the steady throb caused by the lashes on his back. Alistair had been ruthless, but Dean wasn’t about to let that keep him from Castiel, not when all he had managed to think about since he walked out of the classroom was the way the teacher’s voice had dipped as he whispered the number of days left in the semester. 

It was hanging over him like a guillotine, because he knew that the week that classes ended was also the week of Sam’s birthday. The thought ripped through him like razor wire, and he had to clear his throat to make sure that he could still breathe. He gave himself a once-over in the rearview mirror before he stepped outside, walking up to the hotel that he was just at.

He wondered when he became so all right with the idea of dating a client. And yet, as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse, he felt the thought leave his mind. All thoughts left him, actually. He didn’t know what it was about Castiel, but he had this calming effect on Dean, and the younger man wasn’t ready to let go of that feeling just yet.

When the elevator doors opened, he stepped into Castiel’s entryway, glancing around.

“Hello?” He tried to keep his voice even, but he was taken aback by the interior of the place. There were picture lining the walls and framed documents sitting on shelves. He moved closer to look at all of them, but jumped at the sound of Castiel’s deep timbre of a voice suddenly behind him.

“Hello, Dean. I’m glad you could make it.”

Dean turned around with the intention of replying—he even opened his mouth, for God’s sake, but nothing came out when his eyes fell on his teacher. He was wearing a button down shirt and a pair of jeans, a simple ensemble, but Dean’s eyes tracked down the denim without his permission and his stomach filled with heat that spread into his fingertips.

“Dean? My eyes are up here.” Castiel was fidgeting nervously, and it caused the younger man’s face to fill with blood.

“Sorry, I…” He shook his head quickly, clearing it of the inappropriate thoughts he was having.

“Come on, Dean.” Castiel’s face was colored pink as well, and Dean wanted to reach out and touch him again.

He didn’t, of course. Instead, he followed Castiel into the kitchen and settled carefully into the chair provided. He had no idea how tonight was going to go, but he was certainly looking forward to finding out


	10. Ten

The food was amazing.

Dean had been treated to every fine dining restaurant that the area had to offer, but nothing quite compared to Castiel’s almond-crusted chicken picatta. And, when he told the teacher as much, the man had flushed the prettiest shade of pink Dean had ever seen. And, Christ, when the smell of cherry pie his Dean’s nostrils and he looked up to see the man carrying in a pie plate, he thought he might grab Castiel by the waist and have him right there on the hand carved mahogany table.

Dean slid his fork along the rim of his plate, collecting the last bit of the red filling on the metal prongs before bringing it to his tongue, trying to not notice the way that Castiel followed the path that the utensil made to his lips. He glanced over at the teacher, who seemed to be captivated by the way Dean was eating, and he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to scenarios that involved showing the man just how talented his mouth could be.

“Dean? Are you listening to me?” Castiel’s voice brought him back to reality, and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry… Did you say something?”

“I asked you why you do what you do.” The teacher’s finger was circling the rim on his wine glass, and the blue eyes were tracking the movement.

“I like to live comfortably.” He shrugged. “And, I mean… I have to take care of my brother.”

He said the last bit a little lower than the rest of his words, because the thought of sharing Sam with anyone other than Ellen or Jo was excruciating. Luckily, Castiel seemed to understand this.

“Have you thought of… Maybe doing something else?”

“I mean…” Dean frowned around his own words, not able to meet the man’s eye. “I’ve thought about it, yeah. I don’t mind my job, though. It pays the rent and the hospital bills.”

Castiel nodded, standing from the table. Dean took the cue and stood as well, expecting to be thrown out.

“If you’d like to join me in the living room, I’ve been writing and I’d like to run something by you.”

And okay, Dean wasn’t expecting that. Still, he wasn’t one to turn down an offer of any sort that Castiel gave. He followed the man around the corner and down a short hallway before it opened into a larger room that held two couches, a giant television, and more shelves lined with pictures. Castiel sat on the smaller one of the couches, and Dean chose a seat next to him.

“It’s not exactly a poem, just some freeform writing I’ve done.” He reached into a drawer of the coffee table and fished out a yellow legal pad.  Dean waited patiently, closing his eyes in order to not get distracted by the tightness of Castiel’s blue jean with the way he crossed his legs underneath him.

 

“I am tired of living.”

  
   
Dean frowned at the words, fighting his instinct to reach out to the man and pull him close.  
 

“When I was 5 years old, I told my kindergarten teacher that I wanted to be an astronaut.

I wanted to touch the stars, to soar above the clouds in a reckless display of antigravity and freedom.  
Look at me now, though.  
I’m not free, nor have I ever been.  
I am confined to a place of familiarity due to my own mindset.  
Trapped.  
Imprisoned.  
Rooted to the spot like a tree that had no choice where it was planted.”

  
   
Dean took a deep breath, listening to the way Castiel’s voice twisted in and out of the words.  
 

“And then, I see you.”

  
   
Dean’s breath hitched in his throat. He opened his eyes and glanced over at him, not entirely surprised that the man was staring at the floor, not even focusing on the legal pad he was clutching so tightly in his fingers, and Dean felt like his chest was going to explode.

  
   
“I see you and you are so far above me, floating effortlessly out of my reach,  
 And the only thing I want in the world is to be tall enough to contact you,  
Or loud enough to capture your attention.  
But, things are never that easy, are they?  
I am stuck on the ground while you are-”

  
   
Dean swallowed the rest of Castiel’s sentence, unable to keep himself from closing the distance between them and pressing their lips together. The man made a small, surprised noise, but it took him only a fraction of a second to realize what was happening and return the kiss. Dean snatched the legal pad from his hands, tossing it into the floor as he grabbed the underside of the man’s knees, yanking him further down on the couch so that he was lying backward underneath the younger man.

He moved his lips across that stubbled jaw, drinking in every single sound that Cas was giving off before putting his lips against the man’s pulse point and sucking a purple mark onto his neck.

“Dean, I… I want…” Castiel’s voice was rough with want, and Dean’s hips bucked forward from just the sound of it. “Fuck, Cas…” He whispered the words against the man’s collar bone, his hands tearing open the button-down he was wearing, the sound of buttons scattering across the floor causing them both to grin.

“You are so perfect, Cas,” he kissed his way down the man’s chest, mumbling praise into his skin. “You feel stuck? Let me pick you up. Let me pull you out of the ground.”

The man groaned underneath him, and Dean felt like crying from the sweetness of the noise. He pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin just above the button of his pants before his hands tracked up the inside of Cas's thigh, fingers grazing that denim that he had been fixated on all night. Castiel bucked into his hand, whispering his name like a curse, something illicit that he wanted to hide away from prying eyes, and Dean felt something unpleasant curling in his stomach as he realized where he was and what he was doing.

And who he was with.

He moved up Castiel's body, pinning the man's squirming hips to the couch underneath him as he looked at him for a serious moment. 

"Look at me."

The man's eyes were still closed, and he was whispering Dean's name over and over, a quiet chant that shook him to his very bones and it took all of the younger man's will power to put a hand on Castiel's chin, forcing his eyes open.

"Look at me, Cas." His voice was commending, and those blue eyes popped open instantly, locking with the green ones in front of him.

He stilled, and Dean could see him assessing the situation. He wondered what was running through his head, but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"I need you to tell me that you understand what you're doing here." Dean said the words with a slightly desperate air to his tone. "I need you to tell me that you're okay with this and that you realize who I am, what I am."

"I..." Castiel frowned, sitting up and pushing Dean away. "I was under the impression that you were doing this because you wanted to, Dean... Because you wanted me?"

"Cas, I  _do_ want you. I'm just-"

"Stop." He shook his head, standing from the couch and leaving Dean feeling inexplicably cold. "I'm almost positive that I've mentioned before that I'm not going to pay you for this." He waved his hand in the space between the two of them to signify that he was talking about whatever was going on between them. "If you want compensation, then you should find someone else."

Oh.

Castiel thought that he was--  _Oh.  
_

But that wasn't what Dean was saying at all. He was trying to make sure that he actually wanted to do this. He opened his mouth to offer an explanation, but he was cut off again.

"I think you should go."

Dean shook his head, because God damnit, if Castiel would just let him  _explain_ , then this whole mess could be sorted out.

"Are you deaf?" The older man's words had an edge of anger to them, and Dean stepped back. "Get the hell out! I don't want you here. I don't want you. Go!"

And, yeah. That was painful to hear.

Almost as painful as the sound of the elevator doors closing as Dean watched an angry Castiel disappear from his line of sight.

 

\----------------------- 

 

The next eight days were agonizing.

Dean had a decent enough grade in Castiel's class that he had no qualms about skipping until the day of the final. And, on that day, he chose a seat in the far back corner of the classroom, avoiding blue eyes and angry, questioning looks. Before the test was handed out, Jo reached over and stabbed Dean with his pencil, causing him to flinch.

"What do you want?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The last thing he wanted was to give Castiel a reason to kick him out of his final the way he had kicked him out of his penthouse.

The memory stung.

Even as much as it hurt Dean to think about, he still found himself waking up panting, remembering the taste of red wine and cheery pie on Castiel's tongue.

"Novak's got a girlfriend." Jo waggled her brows as she whispered across the aisle to Dean, who snapped his head up to look at her.

"What?"

"Or a boyfriend." She shrugged, pointing at the teacher, who was putting the tests papers in order. "There's a hickey on his neck."

Dean felt himself go pale as he followed Jo's gaze to the mark on Castiel's neck, the one that he had put there himself. Blue eyes locked on him for a moment, and Dean stared down at his desk to break eye contact.

"I am passing out test papers now. When you are finished, you are free to go. Grades will be posted within a week." Castiel spoke evenly, and Dean hated the way his body still reacted to the gravel in the man's voice. "All cellular phones must be on silent, and there will be absolutely no talking or communicating in any way."

Dean heard the voice moving closer as Cas passed out the papers, and he kept his own eyes on the dark markings in the lightened wood of his desk as the teacher moved closer. The test paper was placed in front of him lightly, and he couldn't help the way that he followed the man's fingers as they moved away.

He picked up his pencil and brought the eraser to his mouth, unsuccessfully trying to concentrate.

Dean wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there staring at the blank test when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He jumped at the sensation, frowning until it stopped. Not two seconds later, it started vibrating again, and he got pretty worried.

Ellen knew that he was taking an exam. Why would she be calling unless it was an emergency? And no one else really had his number.

He slipped his phone marginally out of his pocket and glanced quickly at the screen before anyone could notice. He froze at the name on the screen, and he stood from his desk, putting the phone to his ear.

"Jess?"

He could see the eyes of his classmates falling on him, and he heard Castiel clear his throat, but he didn't care. It sounded like Jess was crying, but he couldn't make out a damn thing she was saying. He hung up the phone and grabbed his bag. 

"Dean. Did I not just say that phones should be-"

"It's Sam." Dean shoved his teacher out of the way, bee lining for the door, and he felt a firm hand clap onto his shoulder.

He turned, ready to shove Cas away again, but he came face-to-face with Jo. 

"I'll drive." She snatched the keys out of his hands and they raced to the end of the hall. 

They made it to the hospital 8 minutes sooner than the distance allotted, but that was because Jo's foot was heavier than his. Not that Dean was complaining, because his stomach was in knots and he felt like he was going to puke in the floor of his Baby at any given moment. 

Missouri met them outside, and Dean braced himself for whatever news she had. The woman didn't speak, though. She simply took his hand and led him across the hospital towards Sam's room. 

When Dean finally reached the door, he opened it slowly with a knot in his throat. Jess was sitting at the foot of the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, and she glanced up when he and Jo entered. 

"Dean?"

That wasn't Jess's voice, though. 

Dean felt like he was going to collapse. He took shaky steps to the bed, sitting down and grabbing his brother's hand. 

"Sammy." He cracked a smile. "It's about time you woke up."


	11. Epilogue

A week passed, and Dean was happy.

 _Genuinely_ happy. 

Sammy was doing well. He was still adjusting to the fact that so much time had passed, but he was looking forward to celebrating his 21st birthday with Dean and the Harvelles and Jess.  Of course, Dean wasn't surprised at all when Jess decided to keep visiting Sam even after he was moved from her floor. 

Walking out on his final exam dropped Dean's A down to a B, but he hadn't given it much worry. Castiel had called him multiple times, but he kept ignoring the calls.

He knew what they were about-- the teacher had given Jo a makeup exam due to the circumstances. Dean didn't want a makeup exam, though. He didn't want to think about Cas at all.

Which was particularly difficult the morning Dean came home from staying the night at the hospital to find the man sleeping on his stoop. It was kind of endearing, really, the sight of him curled into a ball, leaning against the door while he was wrapped in that fucking coat that was about three sizes too big for him. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean leaned over to shake him gently awake. 

Castiel blinked open his eyes, squinting around him as if he was trying to figure out where he was. He glanced up at Dean in realization and immediately got to his feet.

"I've been calling you."  
And _fuck_ , his voice was rough from sleep, and Dean wanted to wrap himself on it. He looked down at his shoes to avoid those blue eyes, promising to keep his resolve. He was still hurting from what Cas had said to him, and no amount of time in Benny's bed was going to heal him within a week. 

"I've been ignoring you." He pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "I still have a passing grade, man. I don't want a makeup test."

"I haven't been calling about a makeup test." Castiel's words were slightly frustrated, and Dean wanted to smile. If anyone deserved a little frustration right now, it was Cas.

"Then what do you want? I was up all night at the hospital, Cas. I'm exhausted." He tried to keep his words even, attempting to not sound as tired as he felt.

"How is Sam?"

The question caught Dean off guard, and he glanced up at the words.

Big mistake. 

The second his eyes locked with Castiel's, he felt a desperate aching in his gut. It felt as of his stomach was trying to claw its way out of his abdomen, and he nearly doubled over underneath the pain.

"He's... He's okay. Adjusting, y'know." Dean was surprised that he managed to speak actual words.

"Dean, I..." Castiel broke eye contact, staring at the ground for a moment. "I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't mean what I said, I just..."

"I quit, Cas, okay?" Dean was unable to keep the words from coming out. And it was the truth, too. "In the grand scheme of things, I can't have Sammy knowing what I did to keep him alive. So, if you're here looking for... Whatever... Then you've come to the wrong person."

"I'm not here for that." The words were cold, and Dean exhaled through his teeth. "I'm here because I have come to believe that I am in love with you."

And just like that, the words were out there.

They weren't spoken with a voice that was wrought with emotion, or through gritted teeth, or the reason behind a smile. No, they were spoken in Castiel's voice, just thrown into the air as if he was stating a fact.

Dean fumbled for words, trying to make that connection between his mouth and his brain work properly, but nothing came out. He stood there in front of Castiel, slack jawed and gaping like a fish.

He found himself shifting through his keys, unlocking his door and stepping inside. He turned, and without giving thought to his actions, grabbed a hold of Cas's tie and pulled him inside. 

Their lips connected, to the sound of the door being slammed, and Dean had every intention of shoving Cas against that door and _taking_ whatever the hell he wanted, but he found himself being slammed against the wood instead.

And, _fuck_ yeah, he was totally okay with this alternative.

Cas's knee found its way between Dean's legs, and he couldn't stop himself from grinding down shamelessly against it, groaning into the man's mouth at the delicious friction it caused. He felt the other man's tented jeans pressing insistently into his hip, and Dean ripped the button open, shoving his hand past the waistband and wrapping his fingers around what he found there.

Castiel's grip on him tightened, and Dean's other hand made its way into the dark hair at the top of his head, tugging on it to hear the guttural groan spill from Cas's lips.

"Dean Dean Dean." Castiel whispered his name against Dean's neck, pressing kisses on every expanse of skin that he could reach. He bucked his hips into Dean's hand, biting down against his shoulder when the younger man tightened his fist around him.

It didn't last particularly long. Castiel was, after all, a virgin, and how could Dean keep from exploding in his pants upon hearing the hitch in the older man's voice as a desperate whine was ripped from him?

"Don't worry, though..." Dean pressed kisses along Castiel's neck, licking over the fading mark he had given him only a week ago. "We have all the time in the world to do it again and again and again."

Cas was breathless against him, his hands wandering to unbutton Dean's shirt lazily. He licked across his own bottom lip before looking up at him with a sheepish grin.

"Again."


End file.
